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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 105 | volume  | January, 2016



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 105January, 2016

Pink Wool Hair

p. 1
Verce Karafiloska


Pink Wool Hair

Translated by: Elizabeta Bakovska

Mu daughter’s name is Tear.
    Tear – like the drop that hung from the edge of my eye as I gave her birth with my teeth clenched. Tear – as the water that washed my smile when I first held her tiny body in my arms. She has the name of these ants that I want to let run and stop pushing like sticky noodles under my eyelashes, but I can’t. I can’t. Because I am not free. Because I can never be free again.
    When I gave birth to my Tear, I thought there was no pain bigger than that in the world. I thought that if I lived through this breaking into smithereens, I would survive anything. I thought that every pain was followed by joy, because that’s the way it was with Tear. I thought many things, but I never thought my end was near, that it waited for me in front of the gates as a faithful dog. The day I felt the deadly scythe passing through me, I saw the happiness of my dearest died like an extinguished candle. Their painful moaning, as they punched my cold chest with their hands squeezed tore me apart. I am here, I yelled. I am here, I repeated. But they couldn’t hear me.
    My body was buried at the city resting place. After that, there was no joy. After that, there could be no joy.
    For forty days and forty nights I wandered without a body thorough my house. I was everywhere, and I was nowhere. My shadow was gone, my reflection was gone, the sound of my steps could not be heard. In the evenings I would lie down next to my man and I watched him wrinkle his face in his dreams. He spoke as he slept, calling my name. I am here, I wanted to tell him, but I had no mouth to utter a sound. I would press against him and he would shiver from the cold. I wanted him to turn towards me, tell me that he remembered. But he would only cover himself and remain with his back turned towards me, not coming to my side of the bed. Before it dawned, I would go to Tear’s room. She was little, her hair was still fort like feathers. I would kneel to her small bed and I watched

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