Four Poems By Monika Herceg-Croatia

same old stories

grandma and grandpa live in the next-door room
before bedtime i crawl into their bed
and intently listen

the story always gets caught on the undergrowth
struggling like chestnut harvesters
through the muddy forest paths
beaten by the tracks of wild game
once again grandma speaks
of when drunk grandpa took the horses to town
and returned without them
of her brother who died during
a long-forgotten war
of a house whose wood evolved into bricks

it’s already getting dark
and the stories close along with eyelids
depriving the words of visual effects
the scent of freshly cut grass rushes in through the duvet
the mooing of thirsty cows out of the pillow

a fictitious dog is barking outside the window
as grandpa is coming

by foot

without the horse

© Translation: 2020, Marina Veverec

inheritable traits

while beneath the surface
stillness strengthens the roots
that will provide the growth
by the furnace grandpa puffs the rings of smoke
says like a prophet this winter
shall be the fiercest of all
but even the winter is tame inside
by the fire
where the cats lazily purr
furs clean of friskiness

when he dozes off by the furnace
he often dreams of electric trains
the aging still ahead of him
the baldness unnoticed grows
in the middle of his scalp
like a glade
unborn descendants lose their hair
and have a weak heart
closing the circle
of inheritable traits

© Translation: 2020, Marina Veverec

early autumn

the dripping beeches’ souls creak at night
their rings expanding like ripples on the water
starting point of the world and the north
a concentric circle

cyclamens sense
somnolence seeping in bolder
eroding the bulbs
as it settles on their fertility

herons move september
from one side of the lake to the other
following the sun sliced in reeds
as loud women are washing the clothes
knee-deep in ice-cold water
cracking open like spiny husks of chestnuts

only one thing’s left to do
to plow through the depth of dream once more
share the remaining light with deer
who strip their fur before twilight
and warm the women’s hands

fertility

the precise strikes of the hoe
crack the winter out of the fields
the days ripen into cherries
women into tough stalks

mother’s care is as rough as the tongue of a cat
long it enfolds and cleans the soil from pests
licks the fur of straying animals
cleaning them off the bad habit of entering the yard
out of her arms sprout the seedlings of cabbage and radish
she then replants into the throats of billets
out of her knees grow the greenest chards
mother’s skin is covered in sprouts instead of in hairs

before noon she always lays down
along the bluest bone of the sky
then with a belly full of early light
rams the morning into her womb
and grafts
the long necks of fertility
onto tiresome trees

in vain
in our house
wherever it may be
live people who died

the spring never comes in