Some Kinds of Fire

Tina Cane
               Anna Akhmatova burned
her poems and the light of Madrid was like water

at La Latina luncheonette I ate a cup of chocolate
and a motor oil churro 

every day for a week
recovering

                      ...the cherry bomb alley that was our street
Hotel Chelsea ablaze from a rum-soaked pillow and a cigarette, 1977

iron balconies were dropping like lace
windows were popping like sobs...

"Can you describe this?" someone asked

Anna Akhmatova
as she stood on line "Yes"

she said "I can"

Copyright © Tina Cane. Used with permission.

Copyright © Tina Cane. Used with permission.

Tina Cane

Tina Cane

by this poet

poem
In the Sixties
Nabokov switched

from ink to eraser-
topped pencil

on index cards  a box
of cards for Ada  a box

of cards for dreams
whose "curious features"

include "erotic tenderness
and heart-rending enchantment"

in one draft
he traded "stillness and heat"

for "silence, a burning
poem
I

today
on Sixth Avenue

sports coat-
junkie-man
on the same oldschool
skateboard as ever  ragged

wheels but a beautiful
deck, wood  smooth

as if the plank had
been tumbled in the sea

his right leg
a manic pendulum

skinny-looking
but strong

under thin
jeans  hard to believe

he's still
around

after all