Before the War, We Made a Child by Ilya Kaminsky

Before the War, We Made a Child

 

I kissed a woman

whose freckles 

arouse our neighbors.

 

She had a mole on her shoulder

which she displayed

like a medal for bravery

 

Her trembling lips

meant come to bed.

Her hair falling down in the middle

 

of the conversation meant

come to bed.

I walked in my barbershop of thoughts.

 

Yes, I thieved her off to bed on the chair

of my hairy arms—

but parted lips

 

meant bite my parted lips,

Lying under the cool

sheets. Sonya!

 

The things we did.