Lion’s Bridge

By | 1 October 2020

The seats were covered in snow in February,
and the screech of trams as they passed Lavov Most,
Lion’s Bridge, muffled the water of the Vladaya.

A woman walks in red heels outside a bakery.
The old communist buildings are tattered.
In winter there was ice on leaves, and stray cats
sat on an outdoor heater; the sky was dark.

It is still hot in September; no fur coats,
no chimney smoke. In the markets,
celeriac for 2.50 leva a kilo, chestnuts for 5,
plums for 1. Taps and leather bags.

I want to sell you something, a man says.
We have knives for everything. For cutting,
for chopping. Even for killing.
He laughs.

An electric bus stops outside the Zhenski Pazar.
In a butcher’s shop, pigs’ trotters
and a head with its tongue hanging out.

The lions on Lavov Most have no tongues;
to guard secrets, some say, and ghosts.
A woman feeds a stray cat; looks sideways
to see if anyone has seen her.

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