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mstislav rostropovich was to play dvorak in london

in 1968, in the summer, in the english heat,

but europe was at a cusp, tumultuous, about to break again --

mstislav rostropovich was to play dvorak in london

and he did, but he played it crying,

his cello keening for prague.

this was years before i was born but i have read kundera,

i have traced my fingertips over tomas and tereza.

i am listening to mstislav rostropovich, to dvorak's concerto in b minor,

and kundera is open on my lap, moth-eaten;

i am turning pages as i listen to the cello:

the dreams of tomas, and the bowler hat,

and karenin whimpers in a corner of the yard.