Fourteen Years (Free verse) by impert&ent
He's stirring the soup in a pan on the stovetop.
He slips the spoon under water and lifts out a slice of carrot, a bit of
celery, some herbs and a few droplets of oil as they spread across the
He blows across the spoon, then sips at the contents.
Postcards stacked in a loose heap.
There are no sawmills round here.
But there are memories.
February is the driest month.
It still rains, but less than in August.
Perhaps it's too late to move south.
We talked about Tunisia.
Well, a holiday escape from Belgrade for a little girl.
How are the fish?
The shad run,
the little grills set up on the shore.
Torches and lanterns
rising and falling with the boats
scattered refelctions off the water.
A quiet celebration.
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