like flowers

left for the ghosts

of Pushkin

Peter

and great Catherine

there is no case

of lace

in the stores

which is not

scattered

with veils

and silver flowers

for new brides

and no tray of jewelry

I pick through

for souvenirs

that does not show

simple bands of gold

sold cheap as lead

every place you see

women

young and old

wearing every expression

of love

from happiness to hate

with their husbands

(and sometimes

with their lovers)

shouting their wedded state

from the third finger

of their right hands

and from all of this

I am

excluded

both love and hate

and all (in truth)

that goes with weddings

from the silver roses

to the lover

on the side

from the kisses

slyly stolen in public

to the fights

loudly shouted

in private

I am requested

please

to restrain my heart

and hide my love

beneath my coat

like a thief