Monika Herceg

I leave so much unspoken
Stooped and scared, invisible, indivisible,
naming stones after the first people,
telling the silences apart,
for years I’ve addressed
every pain by the same name

Since my conception I’d been a silent body of subsistence

In the summer, you poured a river to pull me by the foot
In autumn, I already spoke to the surface of our flat
Thus we’ve become the bread rising in the oven,
the dust under the kitchen cabinet,
after hurtful words, a shrewd place of silence

Here, we force not one thing open
not a jar, not a letter, not an eye

Wrapped in wistfulness, we smear SPF fifty over our skin
to keep this abrupt enchantment from scorching,
observing the salty stillness as it rests on our hairs

Here, we force not one thing open
not the doors, not the windows, not the mouth

You’ll keep quiet for long
Dressed up as me
Collecting photons in the uncombed hair