Anna
Every Muslim who returns to Srebenice is a victory.
So they say
But I had to hold my Anna
One last time
It was strange.
Very strange
To pick up her skull
And feel its coolness in my hands.
Memories
Of cradling her head
To ease her migraine
Flashes of light like gunfire
Behind her eyelids
Chetniks in UN shirts
Grabbing her
By her long black hair.
Me hiding, watching
When she washed her hair
I used to dry it.
She loved me
Because I'd do it briskly
I could feel her scalp move
Over this very skull.
I will never know this peace they claim
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