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Eleven images for my father’s blues

By Jasmina Bolfek-Radovani

You stand at the end of the wave-alcove

holding your father’s letters in your hands


a prayer, the face on the disappearing

photograph that is and isn’t your father


a frail body washed out to the shore

in a future about the soul of the sea


memories of the wars you’ve survived

swell in your cracked pockets


you are a child wearing shoes too small

in the frozen coldness of winter


a middle-aged man dragging the body

of your mother on your shoulders


muffled cries stranded in the dark

of your heart


political games, razor blade diamonds

you cut yourself on


November fog rises over the Sava river

worlds you’ve travelled to overflow the banks


stories you’ve reported on, your hands barely

touching the blackness of the earth under the rain


someone’s else tears, not yours.

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