Lyubov Marekhodova

For her reality
Presents a world of ice and snow
On Lake BaiKal in Siberia
Where few people go
She is by herself
With her animals
Miles from others who
Live out in this wilderness
With little else to view

A great expanse of frozen lake
The deepest in the world
And there she skates
All by herself
Seemingly she hurled
Her 80 years of experience
Into the unforgiving
Icy hell for many
But for her it keeps her living

Her dogs her cows her memories
The physical for she
Is capable and strong enough
And driven as a free
Member of society
Her constitution strong
Fortuitous and outward looking
To where she does belong

Her husband passed some 20
Years ago
And she alone
Disciplines herself to
Get up early
For her unknown
To not survive this blatant
Disposition she
Has to struggle on and on
For her eternity

She relates to Nature
Its all about respect
There is no doubt she is suffering
Her old age it has checked
Her abilities to manage
Her philosophy
Is a pertinent reminder
Of how life has to be

If she lived in the city
Probably by now
She would have passed on
Years ago
Its the struggle
Really how
She lives in her perspective
Her struggle is her way
She identifies with freedom
And is willing to pay

The price, her world of difference
The adverseness she can feel
For her a kind of antidote
A confrontation with whats real
Creativeness invention
Its with her everyday
She knows she is up against it
With the vastness of each day

Her union with Nature
The great lake at her door
Her animals and the love of them
The climate outside, raw
The sheerness and the oneness
The true simplicity
The whole damn symbiosis
And the assembly

Her faith is in her being
Nature is her church
She feels that connection
She has made her perch
And there displays her tenacity
Against the elements she
Takes on vilest winters
With such integrity

The entireness of her being
So much harmony
She is self sufficient
She really has to be
She can embrace the elements
Her authorship maintained
She feels entirely harmonious
And with all of this has gained

Some kind of perfection
A love of order she
Manages her life quite well
Enjoys her liberty
She owns her eccentricity
A hippie in her own way
She is an old age traveller
But it gets her through each day

She feels the isolation
The absoluteness grows
Each day is like a monologue
A path before her shows
Lonesome and forsaken
Worm fodder in a way
Possibly eaten by her dogs
When her life slips away