*

the look in my eyes is as kind as an amphetamine and believes that pharmacy is a god-given

science.

every morning, while still without thoughts, i slide my hand along my stomach hoping to reach the thighs.

a strange feeling.

i will get up, i will exist and you will know me.

i am bad with promises, i do not like them, but i tend to promise nonchalantly.

life slides when i control it. it goes slowly and continually. and it never talks to anyone. it has no limits.

now look here, one time i saw my old man crying and it was very awkward.

he had poor eyesight and i would usually tell him what color the light was.

and the day he cried we were driving to the country. him and me. the light was green. he was crying.

i just kept thinking: well, what the hell's wrong with you? fuck you, crying in front of me like that. it wasn't me who slapped you.

gray is not my favorite color, but to me the sky is never blue.

it is always gray. the sun is red and the roads are covered with blood.

they’re hanging by a twelve-inch string. like his body.

my name is to sacred for the life i am living.            

now then, there he was crying. he cried for, well, 12.5 miles. and i just kept wondering whether we would stop at the gas station and whether he would buy me an ice-cream and whether  the rest of the family were getting by without us at home.

if only he’d stop crying.

i never worry about tomorrow, i let time pass from one moment to the next.

i hide my face, it is interrupted by commas and dots. it is incomprehensible.

my eyes have a black dot in the middle. darkness coming from within.

he kept saying he loved us. we were his life. no one ever thought he’d do anything good. family. he was black to everyone. then i began to realize and to raise the question from within:

but then why are you destroying us? you created us, don’t destroy us as well. and wipe those tears from your eyes or we’ll  end up under the tanker in front of us.

i do not know how to love if that love is not returned.

my sky is always gray.

that day my brother locked himself into the room. my old man called the police. later my uncle came and begged my brother to come out. i cried in my room. i couldn’t understand. i was eleven i didn’t know why the world was called the world and why our father didn’t love us or why he loved us in that very peculiar way. i begged my old man for us to get out. we sat in the car and headed for the country.

then he started to cry and i was no longer sure who was the guilty one in our stories.

i walk tall. nothing bad exists in my life.

i want you to know that.

a few days later everything was all right again. we had forgotten. it lasted long enough for the next blow to break us into even more pieces. my old man never cried again.

Translation by Mario Suško

*

moj je pogled amfetaminski susretljiv i vjeruje kako je farmacija bogomdana

znanost.

jutrima, dok još ne razmišljam, rukom prelazim preko stomaka i nadam se bedrima.

čudan osjećaj.

ustat ću, bit ću i znat ćeš me.

ne znam s obećanjima, ne volim ih, a sklona sam obećavati s nonšalantnošću.

život klizi kad ga ja kontroliram. ide polako i ide svejedno. i nikad se ne obraća nikom. nema granica.

pazi, ja sam ti jednom vidjela svog starog da plače i to je bila jako nezgodna situacija.

on je imao loš vid i ja bih mu obično govorila koje je svjetlo na semaforu.

a taj dan kad je zaplakao vozili smo se na selo. on i ja.

bilo je zeleno. plakao je.

ja sam samo razmišljala: pa koji je tebi vrag, jebo ti sebe? šta sad ti tu meni plačeš? pa nisam ja tebe ošamarila.

sivo nije moja omiljena boja, ali meni nebo nikada nije plavo.

uvijek je sivo. sunce je crveno, a ceste su krvave.

vise na tridesetcentimetarskoj uzici. k'o njegovo tijelo.

moje ime je previše sveto za život kakvim živim.

i sad, on ti je plakao. plakao je, bogami, 20 kilometara. a ja sam samo razmišljala hoćemo li stati na benzinskoj i hoće li mi kupiti sladoled i snalazi li se ostatak obitelji bez nas kod kuće.

kad bi barem prestao plakati.

nikada se ne brinem o sutra. puštam vrijeme neka ide od trenutka do trenutka.

lice krijem. isprekidano je zarezima i točkama. neshvatljivo je.

moje oči imaju crnu točku u sredini. mrak koji dolazi iznutra.

govorio je da nas voli. brata i mene. mi smo njegov život. nitko nikada nije mislio da će on napraviti nešto dobro. obitelj. svima je bio crn. tad sam počela shvaćati i nametati pitanje iznutra: ali zašto nas onda uništavaš? ti si nas stvorio, nemoj nas i uništiti. i obriši te suze da se ne nađemo pod cisternom ispred nas.

ne znam voljeti dok ne vole mene.

moje nebo je uvijek sive boje.

taj dan se brat zaključao u sobu. stari je zvao policiju. kasnije je došao stric i molio brata da izađe. ja sam plakala u svojoj sobi. nisam shvaćala. imala sam jedanaest  godina i nisam znala zašto se svijet zove svijet i zašto nas otac ne voli ili zašto nas voli na taj jako čudan način. ja sam molila starog da idemo van. sjeli smo u auto i krenuli smo na selo. onda je on počeo plakati i ja više nisam znala tko je krivac u našim pričama.

hodam sigurna u sebe. u mom životu ne postoji loše.

želim da to znaš.

par dana kasnije sve je opet bilo u redu. zaboravili smo. potrajalo je dovoljno dugo da nas sljedeći udarac razlomi na još veće dijelove. stari više nikada nije zaplakao.