All my life I have lived in fear of being thrown out
Of the house, in the dead of night, in the golden days
Of August, while my breasts were growing
As I gather my hair from the sink
I hid from my father in the attic
And smoked his cigars, and chicks I
Pushed between the tiles
I’d stay upstairs for a day or two
Then I would come down when I run out of everything
And he would meet me at the door
Grinning, extinguished in the face
You came to me again, didn’t you, he would say
And I listened to the pretzel pot squeak
In the kitchen, full of penance, for the bed
For vague dreams, for a spoon
And my first husband
In every quarrel he knew how to say
Get the hell out, whine to someone else
And after seven years of marriage
I returned to my father again
I have traversed the empty roads of this country,
bowed heads
And my father asked me: How long do you plan on staying?
And not long after, I broke away from my father again
My second husband maintains grass in cemeteries
People say he’s crazy, they make fun of him
And that’s why he comes home sullen
And he doesn’t look at our child
And torment me that the velvets on the balcony are frayed
Although they are not
He grabbed me by the head like a velvet rosary
And dragged me to the entrance
I pushed the front door with my feet, begging him
Just don’t throw me out
I’ll do whatever you say
just don’t thrown me out of the house, I told him
Although I’ve already seen the road and some other leisure
Modified very much, but the same again
Naida Mujkic