Sport 35: Winter 2007
Names
Names
When Claude Debussy
died our friend
Ljuba who lives in
Amsterdam
by the canal
decided from now on
her life would be
catless—no more
midnight serenades,
no more 2 a.m.
scratching at the
window, no more
visits to the
vet with frostbitten
ears and battle
wounds. Now she would
travel. She practiced
places-names aloud—
'Grand Rapids'
'Patagonia'
savouring the sound—
until, that is, a
ginger stray, half-grown,
with paws like
a lion cub came
by. His purr was
a consonant,
his growl spoke
of the Caucasus. She
called him Pushkin.