Contributed By: Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, Valentin Dishev
Nobody cries
for the rock
turned into a statue.
There is no one to mourn
the statue,
on its patient way
to dust…
I want to praise the scar.
You shall know them by their scars.
* * *
Никой не плаче
за камъка,
превръщан в статуя.
Няма кой да оплаче
статуята,
по търпеливия път
към прахта…
Искам да възпея белега.
По белезите им ще ги познаете.
Return to table of contents for Issue 7 Summer 2013
After the storm returned: We sat barefoot on the back porch, The water whipping itself into a frenzy, Us in our plastic red chairs. The oak tree leaned down to us, like God observing ants in a flood, Its shadow falling over your face, Making roots of your feet and branches of your hands. And […]
Morning headaches are set to blow up my brain / The extra gift of great machines
so i hold a funeral for myself / girl i used to be / cliche sort of thing / there have been so many funerals / i have never been to the ones that matter / what i’m saying is my grandfather died when the first snow fell and i couldn’t go to the funeral […]
