Zhanna P. Rader, US

 

 

To an Immigrant N. C.   You're now in Georgia , with two tots, alone— Far from your motherland; the speech, so different. There is no winter here; the autumn looks like spring, And summer’s like a bath of sun with cedar scent. Far, oh so far away, your husband’s left behind. You long for him and pray, you write him every night. “I’m lonely without you. My soul’s alive with hope That soon they’ll let you in, and things will come aright.” The days, like restless cranes, fly no one fathoms where. The months—a line of swans—keep floating slowly by. “Now, mama, where is he?” the small ones want to know. “You told us: Daddy’ll come. But we don’t see him—why?” You put them into bed and kiss them one more time With saddened, aching heart, and feeling almost numb. The older of the two won’t take his eyes from yours. And so you almost cry, “I’m telling you: he’ll come!”     Natasha's Ode to her Friend To N. C.   I’m not too bold, I’m not too suave, And mine are simple ways; But I have known the Maker’s love, And here’s what I must say. I met a lady, kind as can be, And smart, and, oh, so fine. And I am very proud that she Is now a friend of mine. I know for sure that she was born To make the world much better. Her name is Lois Thelma Van Horn. I’m lucky that I’ve met her. “Natasha dear, you’ll be O.K.,” She said. “You know your art; You’ll make it in the USA, I feel it in my heart.” She showered her queenly deeds on me, And kept my spirits high. We’re friends for life, a goddess—she, A humble person—I.     Natasha's New Job To N. C.   As soon as I tuck both my kids into bed, I dream of tomorrow’s fare. I do not just go to my great, newfound work— Ever-so-gladly, I fly there. I’m dancing again on my favorite grounds; If I said, “I get tired,” I’d be lying. Like a grand ballerina in a tutu of light, ‘Round a fantasy ballroom, I’m flying. From the amiable smiles, I am melting like ice. Of all this, there’s no point denying. Two crystalline swan wings ascend from my back— High in the heavens, I’m flying! And I have an angel that rests on my arm. “The world is all yours!” he is crying. And that is the reason why every new day, On the wings of enchantment, I’m flying.