I have not kept
The last photograph with my father.
We were sitting in my father’s car,
And I was silent,
He was talking and breathing heavily,
Struggling for air.
What is left of the photograph
Is just a strip of light,
Although it is more important to me
Than the preserved photographs.
But I remember
That I was looking right ahead,
With my eyes wide open,
As if I could see
What was coming.
What had already come
And placed itself between us,
In my father’s light yellow car.
Translated: Dragan Purešić