poem index

sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox

About this Poem 

“This poem is from a book-length manuscript, ‘Deaf Republic.’ This is a story of a pregnant woman and her husband living during a time of civil unrest.”
—Ilya Kaminsky

Town Watches Them Take Alfonso

Now each of us is
a witness stand:

Vasenka watches us watch four soldiers throw Alfonso Barabinski on the sidewalk.
We let them take him, all of us cowards.

What we don’t say
we carry in our suitcases, coat pockets, our nostrils.

Across the street they wash him with fire hoses. First he screams,
then he stops.

So much sunlight—
a t-shirt falls off a clothes line and an old man stops, picks it up, presses it to his face.

Neighbors line up to watch him thrown on a sidewalk like a vaudeville act: Ta Da.
In so much sunlight—

how each of us
is a witness stand:

They take Alfonso
And no one stands up. Our silence stands up for us.
 

Copyright © 2017 by Ilya Kaminsky. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 6, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2017 by Ilya Kaminsky. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 6, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Ilya Kaminsky

Ilya Kaminsky

Born on April 18, 1977, Ilya Kaminsky was raised in Odessa, Ukraine, the former Soviet Union. At age four, he lost most of his hearing after a misdiagnosis. He arrived in the United States in 1993, when his family was granted asylum by the American government. He earned his BA from Georgetown University, and went on to receive his JD from the University of California, Hastings College of Law.

by this poet

poem
To your voice, a mysterious virtue, 
to the 53 bones of one foot, the four dimensions of breathing,  

to pine, redwood, sworn-fern, peppermint,  
to hyacinth and bluebell lily,  

to the train conductor’s donkey on a rope, 
to smells of lemons, a boy pissing splendidly against the trees.  

Bless each thing on
poem
On balconies, sunlight. On poplars, sunlight on our lips.
Today no one is shooting.
A girl cuts her hair with imaginary scissors—
the scissors in sunlight, her hair in sunlight.
Another girl steals a pair of shoes from a sleeping soldier, skewered with light.
As soldier wakes and
poem
I scrub and lather him like a salmon
until he spits 
soapy water. "Pig" I smile—

This man smells better than his country
I throw his shoes 
and glasses in the air,

take off his t-shirt and socks, and kneel 
in honor of Sasha Petrov 
who was amputated, in honor of Lesha Vatkii the taken.

I dip a glass in a