There is a radiance the way the firefly breaks his body and you stand in the shadows of that light, small, born of things. It is how you chose which package of meat to take. How you remember the Soviet grocery lines here is a spoon, here is a fork, here are two hands cupped together in prayer. How your mother held the chicken as a child arms wrapped around, tomatoes heavy in her pockets, breaking the neck in the glint of moonlight. It is the empty store on fire with florescence. The moment when you stand in an aisle of lamps and believe in the darkness.
American Radiance.
Muradyan, Luisa
There is a radiance the way the firefly breaks his body and you stand in the shadows of that light, small, born of things. It is how you chose which package of meat to take. How you remember the Soviet grocery lines here is a spoon, here is a fork, here are two hands cupped together in prayer. How your mother held the chicken as a child arms wrapped around, tomatoes heavy in her pockets, breaking the neck in the glint of moonlight. It is the empty store on fire with florescence. The moment when you stand in an aisle of lamps and believe in the darkness.