Akhmatova

Akhmatova

In this room you waited for word of where
Your husband and son were 
Wearing one of the shawls you wear 
In the photographs that hang on the wall 
Of this room where you were afraid 
You would hear one of them 
Had been hung after hearing
No response from Stalin
To your plea to spare them
The snow sifting down 
Through the bare trees of the garden
Whose winter valor gave you courage
When you heard the apple-crunch of boots
Under your window but before
You could see who it was 
Whoever it was was at the door
As they took the ponderous stairs you hid
The poems that weren’t already hidden
The most dangerous one in the fire
But at the knock on the door faint 
And almost apologetic you knew 
It was a friend come to hear you
Recite the burning one