theatres, mother sitting alone
watching Audrey Hepburn

and Michael Caine

in the flickering dark.

From editorials
of European newspapers,
and the slow
shaking of her head.

From The Collected Works of Lenin.

From long political arguments:

her promise of divorce
if the Russians take Prague.

I come from 1967 and 1968 and 1969;
from the dusty guts

of clocks, from 100,000 cups of Red Rose
with just a little milk.

From log books of World War Two Lancasters,

the starched sleeves of pilots’ uniforms.

From torture reports of the CIA.

From 744-2327,
from the small trap door under the
windshifting house and from two hands
holding across a bridge of stones
in October:
beginning of the cold.