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Quiet Flows the Una
with my shoes on, something
strictly
forbidden.
My
Grandmother was in the
living room, kneeling on her
sheepskin prayer rug and
facing the floor, which was
a little steep on the river-
side because the house was
gradually sliding down the
sandy bank. I had to go along
withmy grandmother’s peace
because she was miracle-
worker and at the same time
a paragon of modesty who
never boasted about her
powers, which made them
flourish in my fantasy even
more.
The whole day was ahead of
me and I didn’t know what
to do next. Should I search
for purple earthworms in my
Grandmother’s cellar, where
discarded things have lain
for time out of mind? When
you pull apart a worm it
has no choice but to reveal
everything. Should I watch
the fish and the movement
of that incredible mass of
water towards the Black Sea?
Or should I sit on the wooden
bench under the quince
tree to smell its flowers
and the plantago and wild
chamomile?