Expectations of History
A. Molotkov
| poetry
Sun at the end of the block. And my life, mo-
mentarily lasting.
A brief struggle, a snapped wing. The pressure of
the future on my skin.
Listening with memories, not ears.
I turn around. The ladder’s broken rung, the stain
on the wall. If only I could reach back in time
with a twisted coat hanger. Porous like Styro-
foam, the past has me hooked.
The key in the lock. The lock in my mind.
I chisel away at the world to shape what I can
understand. Glass house, glass eye. Last night’s
train heavy on today’s rails.
The ice, clear. The hole in the ice. In the distance,
a train’s complaint.
The train whistles by the small station. Now I’m
on the platform. Now, I’m elsewhere.
A mistaken star, its incorrect golden light.
What about our small, private lights? Unsus-
pecting branches with true colors hiding behind
green, each leaf an exit.
A frozen deer by the pond.
The next moment may change everything.
A. Molotkov is an immigrant writer. His poetry collections are The Catalog of Broken Things, Application of Shadows, Synonyms for Silence, and Future Symptoms. His novels A Slight Curve and A Bag Full of Stones are forthcoming in 2025. He co-edits The Inflectionist Review.