Marina Tsvetaeva
How

From the Series “Girlfriend,” No. 7

for Sophia Parnok

How gayly did the snowflakes glimmer
On your gray coat, my sable fur,
As through the Christmas market’s shimmer
We shopped for ribbons’ bright allure.

How waffled pastries, pink, unsweetened,
I stuffed myself on — four plus two!
How folk-carved horsies, rust-red sleek and
Glossy moved me — as they did you.

How in God’s name smooth-talking hucksters
Were foisting on us furbelows,
As stupid crones stood round in clusters,
And leered at Moscow demoiselles.

How when the marketfolk dispersed
At one, into a church we plod,
How you, enthralled, stood long immersed
In icon age-old: the Mother of God.

And how that face with eyes of gloom
Looked drained, grace-giving, cool, serene,
In icon-case baroque, festooned
With round-cheeked rosy cherubim.

How you exclaimed, my hand releasing,
“I’d like to take her home with me!”
Then charily, into slot easing,
You placed a taper tenderly.

Your hand, how posh, with opal ring,
The key to my ruination!
How I then promised you to bring
(To steal) the icon — desecration!

How we, in blissful festive mode,
To din of bells, at evening’s gloaming,
Into the convent hostel flowed,
Went bursting in like hightide foaming.

How I’d stay young, to age adverse,
I crossed my heart and hoped to die,
How three times straight the king of hearts
Came up for me; your angry sigh!

And how you gently squeezed my head,
Caressing each and every curling,
While your enamel brooch dispread
Its chill against my lips’ warm yearning.

How my drowsy cheek felt pleased
Against your fingers’ slenderness,
And how you called me “schoolboy,” teased,
How much you liked my boyishness...

Translated by U. R. Bowie