A poem by Alexander Pereverzin about a mother who saw a bumblebee in the window

On the first Saturday of February
Mother saw a bumblebee in the window
and said, standing in the doorway:
Pasha or Sasha, we'll name him.
Look, in the middle of the whiteness
a bumblebee is flying? That is a good sign.
If we don't come back before spring,
go to the department store for flour.
And if we do come back, I'll teach him to read,
I'll lie with him on the riverbank,
I'll give him a little pencil, a notebook,
what else can I do, Valera?..

…That was a lifetime ago.
It kept itself well afloat,
that country where it snows at night,
that country where it snows in the morning.
The country has been buried in snow, but I am alive.
I haven't even had time to tire of it,
I still count: forty-six.
And all around is rubbery darkness,
"Perekryostok", long apartment blocks,
sparks lighting up the early hour:
a sharp-nosed commuter train glides on
to Shatura or to Ryazan,
and the alphabet flickers in the windows.

Literal translation

Alexander Pereverzin