Nina Sergeevna Krilova
My darling Tovarish Nina,
you played a risky game
against one of the unsustainable plans,
away from the Homeland;
making (cannot trust these) new friends;
ended up chained to the eye of the storm,
being the rope itself in the tug of war
between boyhoods disguised as men.
Became the student tracking the prints
after sand and snow storms alike,
realising too late you’d dragged your heels
through who you no longer accept.