Drought/A Forest in Lungs

By Stipe Odak

Drought

That summer, rain did not fall for twelve weeks

Thirsty foxes and self-igniting fires
were waking us up during the nights

There was a votive statue on the way to the fields
with a small figurine of a Saint Anthony inside

I, a boy, took off the glass
and touched him

but his hand fell off

I ran back home
haunted by the fear of punishment

I could not sleep for nine days
Fires were lighting on my palms
threatening to burn every sense and every touch

I knew that in heaven a saint without one hand
would be suspicious to everyone

I went to my toy box
took a hand from an action figure
and offered it back to the saint

That night, it rained for the first time

(That summer, the war started)

A Forest in Lungs

I dreamt that I inhaled pollen
sometime before the beginning of summer

I laid down parallel to the sky
and a forest grew in my lungs

I did not know whether its roots would suffocate me
or if I would simply continue to breathe through its leaves

In a war that cut down many
I lost my life

My son was born after me,
with a little hole between the ventricles of his heart

They told him that he had a heart murmur:
“As if one can hear leaves rustling far, far away”