PAPAVER RHOEAS

We are terribly alone.
And that is easily tolerated.

Poppy fields.
Flowers break their necks under the blue cover, their magnificent heads bleed. The rustling of the aspen is almost eerily soothing...
I guess that's how it happens before death.
The wind carries the voices of our mothers instead of pollen;

Don't touch those red flowers, your skin will dry out, you can die!

We stayed away from poppies, throughout our childhood and growing up,
we deftly avoided death,
for safety;
we chose white meadows,
picked daisies,
we wore white linen,
for peace -
white flags would flutter in our hands for a short time and we would lower them to the ground.

Sometimes we would meet
and on light fabrics
we would see each other's wounds, confused,
because we did not enter wild fields.
And it hurt.
And it hurts.

Our mothers did not know,
and our graves know;
that red petals reduce pain,
so, secretly, we rub them deep into the wounds,
and that the syrup from their blossoms helps children to sleep peacefully, that's why we constantly drink it from onyx glasses.

And we don't ask who,
we don't ask where,
we won't get anywhere
if we don't go ourselves
There(?)
We lie in the ground,
it will hurt
less 
everywhere
than 
here.


Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia.
Winner of several international awards for poetry, including:
Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,
„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020.
Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021.
„Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022.

She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.