Writing Section > Poems
Ana Bozicevic-Bowling, The Night Meal (EN)
Forehead to forehead
we stand on a hill
with no view. The car
few paces back, in a thicket
violent with
an absorbed sunset.
The stream gurgles
in place, in an ecstasy of hands.
A face can be the ruins
of a city, stone to be traveled.
Unseen birds cry inside
a leafy organ. Slight
hands, slight eyes
journey sideways, to immobility.
A clearer night now brings a plate
of cold stars, needlepoint, distances.
(About the author)
Born in 1977 in Zagreb, Croatia. Living in Brooklyn, NY.
Forehead to forehead
we stand on a hill
with no view. The car
few paces back, in a thicket
violent with
an absorbed sunset.
The stream gurgles
in place, in an ecstasy of hands.
A face can be the ruins
of a city, stone to be traveled.
Unseen birds cry inside
a leafy organ. Slight
hands, slight eyes
journey sideways, to immobility.
A clearer night now brings a plate
of cold stars, needlepoint, distances.
(About the author)
Born in 1977 in Zagreb, Croatia. Living in Brooklyn, NY.
