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Kings have reigned less time
Than the years I spent loving you.
I'm glad it ended 10/4/17
Amela Kovacevic Oct 2019
In Sijekovac once stood a Serbian child
in a field of wheat and dirt
not far from the remnants of his home.
With him was another the next day,
and four more the next,
each of whom were brown and grey
from living in such fields.
By the week's end stood
eighteen Serbian children scattered
across the field of wheat and dirt
and soccer ***** and shoes
and shotgun shells
and crimson pools
and a father and his wife
heading to the next nearest village
for more.
Amela Kovacevic Sep 2019
Mother slept on a floor for years
with thin, withering sponge as a barrier between her and cheap carpet
in a room of no purpose
and yellowing walls.
Her harsh streams of smoke
comfort the child,
focused wildly on used coloring books
and certain this is Mother's preference.
Amela Kovacevic Nov 2018
I am adorned in baby blue lace.
I have boundaries nevertheless.
Amela Kovacevic Nov 2018
My skin was once a muted gold
from years of
lying in fields of
welcoming poppy.
I aged without aging and
discovered foreign land without conquest.
My face, then, grew as old
as Sumerian celebrations of health,
when the joy plant was sacred
in its use for sedation.
I slept without sleeping and
dreamed of eventual rest.
My bones, then, began to point to
a future unimagined.
I whittled them in winter and
did nothing more.
My insides, then, began to bleed and
I continued to rot
for the sake of rotting.
Listen to your liver when
she rejects what you could not.
Amela Kovacevic Oct 2018
I favor not the days of months of
Then came the warmth of yours and of
solstice slumber
far and long enough to portray
a sort of ache I have ached
to confront like David.

Goliath, having finally fallen in fall
years ago
left standing merely a memory and
narrative which all have known
to harbor hardly any truth
nor any woe
but instead a poisoned crown of thorns
upon my head.

“Comatose”, cries Moses
along with his double wives
each of whom rinse my feet with blood
to merely watch them dry
and proclaim we’ve united.

“Go on, then, God”, they chant three times
and grasp my hands
and guide my eyes
into the warmth of yours and of
solstice slumber
far and long enough to decay
a sort of ache I have ached
to confront like David.
  Jun 2018 Amela Kovacevic
Irina BBota
the taste of the wind
reminds me of the sea breeze
inside of Eden
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