Luisa Muradyan comes to America from Ukraine as a child. She grows up to study poetry at the doctorate level; meanwhile, her poems are published in Paris-American, Blackbird, Los Angeles Review, and Poetry International, among other journals. Readers search her work for clues as to what it means, how it feels, to be an American and she refuses to play along. Readers should write their own poetry to figure this American thing out.
There is an old can of tuna in my refrigerator
and I don’t have the heart to throw it away
so I give it a name. I call it Boris. And sometimes
I think about Boris when I eat a ham sandwich
or when I frost a cake in lily white or when I wash
Dishes. When I have guests over I worry that they
will smell Boris, and how can I explain
why I won’t throw him away. But he’s in there
next to the eggs, and I imagine the refrigerator
alive in the twilight, and Boris pulling back his mouth
and singing to the fresh tuna, and how the young
don’t believe in the old.
Disclosure: This article is not an endorsement, but a review. The author of this book provided free copies of the book to have their book reviewed by a professional reviewer. No fee was paid by the author for this review. Foreword Reviews only recommends books that we love. Foreword Magazine, Inc. is disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.