Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Quiet Flows the Una

bank, bending the herbs and grasses and flowing between my legs, the full moon would have cast anchor above the water. The sounds of that riverine microcosm were a cradle for indescribable happiness and deep dreams in my Grandmother’s house.

run back to the house for my fishing rod and tackle. The pleasure of outwitting and struggling with a fish so preoccupied me that I wouldn’t notice when night fell. By the time I became aware of the crickets and the warmth streaming along the

Grandmother

G randmother Emina loved Comrade Tito, an atheist, although she was a devout Muslim and prayed five times a day. Her husband abandoned her and the three children she gave birth to in the railway tunnels where people hid from the Allied aerial bombing raids.

The Second World War was over, and he went off to Banja Luka chasing the skirt of a certain Jagoda, at least that’s what family oral history said. It was beyond her to hate socialism, although the Partisans had executed two of her relatives under the dubious accusation of

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