Yelena gave me her permission to post some of her recent poetry here, since she doesn't have a website of her own yet.
Do you see the bear?
He does, see him
over there,
watching the bear
and you.
He sees the battered down
slumped at the bottom
of every quilted section
in your coat,
and he watches
the spectators
clamoring over the bear.
You do not clamor,
mingling with the crowd,
and he watches you
in silence.
He imagines being dead
and meeting you
at the gates of heaven,
even as he knows,
as you do, that
you do not believe.
He imagines
standing watch
over a field of sheep,
and you lying
on your back
on a nearby hill,
one leg over the other,
examining passing clouds.
You remind him
of a Greek statue
in all of its
tender muscular perfection,
and he wants to sculpt you
all over again,
paying particular attention
to the eyes and the hands,
carving you out of
pure white marble
and placing you
in a museum
for all to admire.
He studies the gentle
angle of your jaw,
the almost feline way
that you rest on your feet,
the blueness of
your parka, the
gray-brown fur
lining your hood.
And you see him
watching you.
He says nothing
from his vantage point
on the hill of snow
seventy feet away.
You find his attention
disconcerting, and
you turn from him,
holding your girlfriend
closer, and pretend
to be interested
in the enormous
white bear, which
is being loaded
onto a cart and
trucked off into
the endless whiteness.