In Valyevo

[lucentwavering]

We’re in Valyevo
where the river’s low
and easy, where light
falls through shafts in trees
and widows ignite
the stove for coffee.

We slid here by train
(delayed) met with rain
at arrival. We’re
here for your grandma -
her cottage is near.
You’re here for baka.

This is the house where
she lives, stuffed with air
and cobwebs. You kiss
her photograph, make
the sign of the cross.
I can’t come in, take

that step through the door;
I don’t know your lore
of spirits, but you
show me the border,
the crossing words. True
Serb, you fetch water

for coffee, refuse
my help and abuse
my weakness for sweets,
drinks and cigarettes.
Soon, our laughter greets
the walls. We say: Let’s

live like her: hard work,
rakia to perk
our nights of friendly
gossip; conviction
in vigour, holy
faith, god’s salvation.

Language is not true.
Confined in here, you
and I pretend ‘til
the sun sets. Her bed
is made for sleep. We’ll
admit it: she’s dead.