[Editor’s note: The following post was put up in Spring of 2009. For a more recent post about Vladimir, from late December ’09, click here]
(as always, click to enlarge)
This evening, stopping by John Siscoe’s Globe Bookstore in Pioneer Square, I’d just paid for parking in the half-deserted streets, when the fellow above suggested an exchange – poetry for a meal.
“What’s your name?” he asked, “I’ll write you a poem using your name.”
“Deal,” I replied, “but you have to guess my name.”
“Interesting,” said the poet, and I went into the Globe to chat with John. Ten minutes later, my poem was finished, hand-printed on the backside of a borrowed business card.
To
Understand the
Roads that
Belong to us
Under a sky of dreams in the
Light from the garden in an
Embrace that
Never ceases to leave from a
Tender touch of winter.
“Very nice, but where’s my name?” I asked.
The poet pointed. “Turbulent,” he said, “Your name is Turbulent.”
(For more poetry by Vladimir, click here)