Poetry from Emina Delilovic-Kevric

Emina Delilovic-Kevric

The mother leans against the sad wet strings
We last a long time-holding time in a transparent suitcase
For handles that pierce the skin, bones, blood flow and go away all at the same time
I am not good at this designing at all
I speak to the body I'm dragging along the blank paper
The body they call my mother
A quiet black dress filled with the burst of distant stars
I can't do anything in creative expression classes
As a representative figure of absolute human evil
I draw wires around my mother, around me, around the house
Around the tongue that can't help me anymore
To make something out of swallowed pain
I will never be able to bring back the dead, nor measure your graves
Where does your grave end and mine begin?
Behind the camp there is still an endless field of wires
Hands that outgrow it are just a myth
Souls are always in love with floating
How many times have you tried to teach her to speak?
They will ask the mother, and I will wait
Drawing line by line
Begging her to hug me
Begging her to go back home