houpačka
it morned. godded.
thin soup enspooned on the stove.
an emotion to match. an H on the access tabulations,
in lukewarm plates. like H, like morn.
i didn’t go to the Hraveyard with dad.
not even when things prayered down on him. READ MORE…
Posts filed under 'Anita Pajević'
Translation Tuesday: Four Poems by Anita Pajević
"technically speaking, you’ll clasp her to your knees. / you’ll clean her fish ponds / to make her laugh."