August 1968

Mstislav Rostropovich was to play Dvorak in London

in 1968, in the summer, in the English heat,

Europe 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 long ago but I have read Kundera,

traced my fingertips over Tomas and Tereza.

I listen to Rostropovich, to the concerto in B minor,

and Kundera lies open on my lap, moth-eaten;

I turn pages as I listen to the cello:

the dreams of Tomas, and the bowler hat;

the dog whimpers in a corner of the yard.