Kerana Angelova
Photo: Oliver Jules
In the backpack she arranges
a book with poems by Debelianov
between its pages
a dry orange sun
from a marigold
a broken photograph from childhood
in sepia tone
instead of a face a circle of light
halo of untidy thin hair
like a bundle of bindweed
folds a yellowed obituary
mom is the sky really
that very far
finally slowly
slowly finally
slowly drops the curtains
ties the shoelaces
in a knot
slings the backpack
and goes
bearing on her back
her small silent homeland
Translated from Bulgarian by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer
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