A VERY LONG TAKE
If I uncoil winter like a rope,
and I cast thin silhouettes over the rope,
I see the shadows drip
and the sun hardens.
On the first warm day of this year
I’m leaving home
(like my colleague Taneski wrote).
Inexplicable immobility of grasses
preceding the swarm of Hymenoptera,
the minutes in which the novel is fertilised.
Like a self-embracing fist
or hypnosis of a bud.
There is a darkness in my pocket,
there is a wound in the dark.
By habit, I send my eyes away from home
like a stubborn flock,
I save my palms for the birch grove
and the wet fur of a squirrel.
For you, I need no look:
one cannot expel the spring from the fruit.
Like many around us,
we are waiting for something to happen.
Tranquillity. The mating of birds.
A handheld camera.
The horizon. ¬
(Andrijana Kos Lajtman, from the collection The Blue Book and the Brown Book, MeandarMedia, Zagreb, 2021)