When the doctor asked about the abyss I feel in my bones, I showed him a box of bent wires stripped from the radio
—Sergei Korolev in Kolyma Gulag, 1938—1941 This is how Stalin fed us in the gulags: cold and hungry, we became our own fuel.
This morning—wind breathing, ticky tock tack of some small rain. What are these weeds tall as I am with umbels of little white blooms?