things we

From the Woman Who Is Always Someplace Else

Artwork by Natia Zarandia

Most men
Who get up before me
And walk through the
Morning darkness, and who
Send me texts about weather
Telling me
To put on three pairs of
Thermal stocking before
My dress
Most decent men
With whom I laugh
Now and then
They simply
Don’t understand that there’s
Always some damn sea
In which I wish to go in
And yet another fall
I’ve already been through,
But chills are going down my spine
Because of it
And sick cats that
Drag down to my entrance
Door and what can I do
With them
As they cough rheumy-eyed
And there’s always a ruined cake there
In which I spill myself
Together with yolks
And I burn in the stove
Of my heart
There are also funny
Grass ears there sticking
To my feet
I dispatch them in woven
Baskets, but who can I
Send them to
And will I feel relief
For them these are only
Everyday things
But for me it’s a whole world
Most men
simply don’t understand
that no matter how tight
I hold their hand
I’m always some place else.

—

Poem by Naida Mujkic

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