POEM: She Is Off To Russia

At the end of the semester.
Her tickets are ready.
Rooms are let.
Passports tucked.
Luggage bowed.
Soon she will be dowsed in Russian,
looking for “Original Muscovites”
Who have left for history.
With her shy Russian friend,
She is building a language.
“My city is the oldest in Russia”, says the friend.
Of course it is her city.
“You must visit!” she says
“We are sisters of history,”
On this fish-frozen blue day
Fire corkscrews from her red head as hair.
“Yes. We are sisters.”