1953-When I met you I pressed a gun to your head because that’s what passes for flowers around here. You smiled like it was a joke and I suppose it was. I couldn’t of killed you. Not a million years.
I could kill you now.
In 1953 they take my name and call me Black Widow. You call me Sweetheart, Darling, Natalia. I call you Soldier but I say it with a smile.
The next few years are fuzzy in my mind. So are the previous few.
1964-I see you in America while I’m wearing a green dress. Brand new with a fur coat and shoes to match. I call you Soldier. You call me Ma’am. We kill a CIA agent and bury him on a muddy roadside. You wrap him in my coat before you put him in the ground. The dress is stained and will have to be disposed of.
1978-I haven’t thought about you in a while.
1984-Natasha Romanov is born in rural Russia to two loving parents who tragically die in an accident. She legally emigrates to America at age 19. She has memorized all the constitutional amendments and can name all the presidents in order.
I keep my new identification inside my jacket, above my heart. I see a figure in the rain I could swear is you.
2009-You shot me. I shot you back. I call you Soldier. You call me Girl. Step aside, Girl. I shoot you twice.
2015- I see you on a train. I call you Soldier. You call me Natasha. You’re a word on the tip of my tongue. I think I knew your name once. I think I used to say it.