by Norman Dubie

    You were never told， Mother， how old Illya  was drunk

    That last holiday， for five days and nights

    He stumbled through Petersburg forming

    A choir¹ of mutes， he dressed them in pink ascension gowns

    And， then， sold Father's Tirietz stallion so to rent

    A hall for his Christmas recital²： the audience

    Was rowdy but Illya in his black robes turned on them

    And gave them that look of his； the hall fell silent

    And violently he threw his hair to the side and up

    Went the baton³， the recital ended exactly one hour

    Later when Illya suddenly turned and bowed

    And his mutes bowed， and what applause and hollering

    Followed.

    All of his cronies were there！

    Illya told us later that he thought the voices

    Of mutes combine in a sound

    Like wind passing through big， winter pines.

    Mother， if for no other reason I regret the war

    With Japan for， you must now be told，

    It took the servant， Illya， from us. It was confirmed.

    He would sit on the rocks by the water and with his stiletto

    Open clams⁴ and pop the raw meats into his mouth

    And drool and laugh at us children.

    We hear guns often， now， down near the village.

    Don't think me a coward， Mother， but it is comfortable

    Now that I am no longer Czar. I can take pleasure

    From just a cup of clear water. I hear Illya's choir often.

    I teach the children about decreasing fractions， that is

    A lesson best taught by the father.

    Alexandra conducts the French and singing lessons.

    Mother， we are again a physical couple.

    I brush out her hair for her at night.

    She thinks that we'll be rowing outside Geneva

    By the spring. I hope she won't be disappointed.

    Yesterday morning while bread was frying

    In one corner， she in another washed all of her legs

    Right in front of the children. I think

    We became sad at her beauty. She has a purple bruise⁵

    On an ankle.

    Like Illya I made her chew on mint.

    Our Christmas will be in this excellent barn.

    The guards flirt⁶ with your granddaughters and I see……

    I see nothing wrong with it. Your little one， who is

    Now a woman， made one soldier pose for her， she did

    Him in charcoal⁷， but as a bold nude⁸. He was

    Such an obvious virgin⁹ about it； he was wonderful！

    Today， that same young man found us an enormous azure¹⁰

    And pearl samovar. Once， he called me Great Father

    And got confused.

    He refused to let me touch him.

    I know they keep your letters from us. But， Mother，

    The day they finally put them in my hands

    I'll know that possessing them I am condemned¹¹

    And possibly even my wife， and my children.

    We will drink mint tea this evening.

    Will each of us be increased by death？

    With fractions as the bottom integer gets bigger， Mother， it

    Represents less. That's the feeling I have about

    This letter. I am at your request， The Czar.

    And I am Nicholas.

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