twenty-two

we are walking through leningrad
on cobble stone alleys
across bridges and canals
under gas lanterns casting
faraway shadows of royalty and czars
when revolution was merely a whisper

marshie is buying
no wine champagne or vodka tonight
we are going for a special treat

we enter the ice cream shop through an arched stone doorway
where walls of marble surround us
we find seats at a thick oak table
with light sparkling from crystal chandeliers
marshie orders confidently in russian
and he watches our eyes glow
as cool colourful scoops fall magically before us
a shock of flavour
strawberry chills me
i catch a young girl giggling as i shiver
and i am reminded of moscow

i close my eyes for a picture of home
and the foothills of dushanbe appear in its place

i slowly dip my spoon
and feel the cool sweetness pull me into a dream
there are no soldiers
there is no poverty
inside this delicious eden