Expanse of ice on a dim morning
Off to school on our valenki we glide
the slippery surface glittering
our faces turning to frost

In class we are warmed by stories
of ruddy-cheeked bourgeois
liquidated by the revolution

At home we hunger
before the white surface of dough
stretched out before us
to be filled with gritty meat bits
and cut into an infinity of dumplings

To come to life and plump up
into soft chewy balls of goodness
pelmeni need boiling water
She kneads the icy dough
and pounds it flat with her hands

The Red Army blares its trumpets on the screen
soldiers marching alongside tanks
The red of the flags
ignites the flames on the stove.

There on tv the Germans are advancing
The hard numb shell of her heart dances
in the blood of anticipation
and she faints

Her portrait in America
is black and white
and too pale
Can her face be revived
and restored to color?

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