"The smile of Mother Bozhenka, who has a cruel father. From the red cheekbone of a ragged one the lead of the forehead blackens the coral heel of the crooked throat, shakes my father's soft melt lemon roar scrolls under the portable canopy. Ask to be remembered. You need each one day new piglets. The sound of ancient railways, a hot tub made of oak and ̵̵̵wasted. New pants and a flight of chickens everywhere. All of them together, so that I would laugh and cry and tickle."