Bogusia Wardein

2 Poems



Today I meet her for the first time:
a brunette, unlike my mother.

She shows me Father’s wallet
photos of him dressed as a pirate

lets me smell his coat hanging in the hall.
She clasps a small black bundle to her heart

then hands it to me, a crumpled plastic bag
Here he is, she whispers. Inside, there is

a matchbox filled with grey powder.
If you want, you can pour some out.    



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