pain
A Poem To My Dead Brother, Who Fought The War In Bosnia
Grief is the old woman who follows me daily
I walk into a cafe, I order a drink, I try to get
Rid of that nasty smoke smell in my hands
And wait for her to appear
She wears long winter coats, and she also
Drinks and smokes
We look at each other in a complete silence,
until I get out of the cafe.
Every day I’m running into a different place
But wherever I go I wait for her, actually
Some days
I wear my brother’s M-65 field jacket
I wander through the city remembering
That morning when I left my heart
in the mountains
The air was clear as the words of a child
And frightened birds were falling in a loose clouds
I wander through the streets in his jacket,
as if he wanders himself
Men pass by me in a hurry, maybe
Sweet girls laugh at me, maybe
The guards in the clothing shops watch over me
As if I’m gonna steal all the pretty dresses from their store, maybe
Those days
only street dogs follows me, stray dogs, so numerous in this city
Dogs who could be our good friends if we didn’t
So cruelly rejected them
As we often throw away the clothes of dead ones
assuring ourselves that we’ll get out of delirium
easier.
My dead brother’s M-65, Naida M.
—
Naida M. has published two books of poetry. She has a master’s degree in humanities. She survived the war in Bosnia. And loves to make cakes.
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