Jazz is so fragile
I put on a light summer dress
rubbed a drop of perfume between my wrists
(never smear for that’s how you destroy the molecules of
fragrance)
and before leaving you kissed me on the back.

We packed up,
—our way—
we selected music for the car,
spread out the map over our knees,
then the earth split open, the road ahead unfurled,
the rivers spilled out of their riverbeds.

It’s summer. Everyone’s going down to the water,
or else staring up at the light blue sky
welcoming the joy of oblivion, as the trees turn into
carousels,
and we descend, down to the ground,
and a bit further underneath.

What are we searching for, tell me,
as we stand above the tombstone
where Oste and Stojan, father and son,
were buried a long time ago,
whose lives we reconstruct in this game
that only the two of us understand,
as our fingers softly touch our upper-arms.

We did not go out dancing,
over there lies Omarska, how many more sons and fathers,
how many bones below, how many more creak above
still waving, ordering iron to go this way or that.

Jazz is so fragile, my love,
a Time Machine parked amid the main street in Prijedor,
Paris Caffe, Current Jazz, always, mornings and evenings,
except on St. Vitus’s Day, the day for celebrating wars
after the monster has already devoured everything,
the way you’re showing me with your hands.

Jazz hid itself somewhere,
it rustled its brushes cautiously,
before all those christs and crosses,
before all the loud sons and fathers

below our hotel room window
aggressive men howl,
herding their beasts of steel,
spitting and swearing,
as we shudder underneath a single sheet,
so thin
that every sound hurts, every loud ominous laugh,
pretending we’re brave with Coltrane in our ears,
so they can find us ready when they come
to take us to the iron plant,
if need be
to out-scream them
this time around.

To celebrate National Poetry Month we are again presenting an April Celebration: 30 Poets/30 Presses (#ArmchairBookFair21), a feature we initiated last year to help promote new releases whose publicity opportunities were thwarted due to the pandemic. Please join us every day for new poetry from the presses that sustain us.