At The Lubyanka

Theo Dorgan
There are no queues today, Anna Akhmatova,
At the black gate of ice in Dzherzinskaya Square, Last night a bride in a veil of lace
Walked hand in hand with her young man Past the grim prison of eternal renown Without a backward or a sideways glance,
The bell of her laughter antiphon to your Requiem.
Now that the terror has changed key,
Now that it drifts like ash, like
Funeral music through the veins of
The wide world, tell me
Where will the grief of mothers find The point of its pure expression,
Where should we hope to find now a voice like yours?
Page 61, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 26