Alex Chernova
I.
Every night the stars were full of eyes Blue figures rustled past the side of the bed, stirring the sheets just a little I have stood atop mountains and felt the stars wrap around my head From the summit of one mountain in Siberia, I saw a river folded like a ribbon in the valley There were pink flowers too, rising from the slope as sentinels Every night she was small and afraid She was only five and had a new baby sister whose breath was gentle and whispery in the dark With the baby in the room, she no longer had the old nightmares, the spiders that had come pouring in over the windowsill Standing at the summit you can see the darkness fall away, pink angels all around you
II.
The thing presents itself to me: an undertaking It presents itself wholly, a single leaf veined through and through with red I would like to press it between the plastic fins of a herbarium and look at it through a little window The leaf-thing presents itself; impelled, I take a step towards it but, catching sight of myself in a mirror, I am suddenly petrified In my dream my teeth fall out as shards of porcelain Many a night I watch with slow eyes as the moon swings into place It bothers me, like the three-quarters of a coin poking out of a slot
Alex Chernova studied Modern Languages at the University of Cambridge. She was born in Moscow and moved to London as a child where she now teaches four- and five-year-olds. Her collaborative translations of the Russian poet, Sofia Parnok, have appeared in PN Review, The Fortnightly Review and Stand Magazine.
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