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| Poem |
 
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BITTER HISTORY by Inga Bukharova
 (22 ratings)
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MY HOUSE BREATHING WITH MY GRANDMOTHER'S
HISTORY
AGLESS PROCESS OF TWO COUNTRIES
THE HOUSE HAUNTED WITH MEMORIES
STROKED TO DEATH BY THE TOUCH
OF BROKEN VOICES, OLD CLOTHES
TREMBLING WORDS
SHE SAID THE FOOD TASTES BITTER HERE
SHE MAKES DINNER AND DOESN'T EAT
LEAVING US TO DISCOVER
HER BITTERNESS
I TELL HER MY DREAMS EVERY MORNING
"I SAW MY GRANDFATHER LAST NIGHT,” I SAID
AND SHE SMILED AT ME
MY GRANDFATHER CAME TO ME
IN A LONG BLACK COAT
HE WAS STANDING ON TOP OF THE ROOF
HIS BACK TOWARDS ME
WHEN HE TURNED AROUND AND LOOKED AT ME
I RAN TO HIM
I KEPT SAYING OVER AND OVER
"YOU ARE ALIVE..."
BUT HE TOLD ME TO LEAVE
"YOU DON'T BELONG HERE,” HE SAID
I LOOKED AROUND ME AND SAW
EVERYTHING IN BLACK AND WHITE
I WOKE UP WITH ACCEPTED SILENCE
UNFOLDED SECRETS
HE DOESN'T COME OFTEN
AND WHEN HE DOES
ALWAYS A REASON
FOR WEEKS I REMEMBER HIS FACE
FOR WEEKS I SMILE
I MOVED OUT FROM MY PARENTS HOUSE
I GO TO SEE MY GRANDMOTHER
WHEN THEY ARE NOT HOME
TO TELL HER MY DREAMS
SHE COOKS DINNER FOR ME
AND I WATCH HER EAT
SHE LOVES MASHED POTATOES
WITH A LOT OF BUTTER AND SOUR CREAM
I WANTCH HER EXPRESSIONS
FACE HANDS
I WANT HER TO LOVE ALL THIS
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