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