I’ m thirsty “, says the ground.
” It’s still not time to drink ” , say the hours.
” I’m cold ” , says the ground.
” It’s still not time to cover oneself ” , says the sky.
” It’s dark ” , says the ground.
” It’s still not time for light ” , says the day.
Neither time changes nor do people.
It’s just a semblance.
We entered the room together. I was hungry.
” There’s no light here ” , I said.
” I have no bread ” , she said.
We fed on darkness.
Like a wound.
Hackberry in the back yard.
Surround by the stony boundary.
It heals but hurts.
New graffiti on the wall.
A battle cry.
Neither the first not the last.
I raise my hand in greeting.
Easily, just like a bird landing on a branch.
Afterwards, I caress the dead tree.
Bio: S.Eta Grubešić , is an ex-journalist, short story writer, poet and photographer. Her works have been published in various books, literary e-journals and portals.