Daughter of Slavonia

Daughter of Slavonia

by Martina Matijević

I descended into the vineyard when the grapes were being harvested.

It spread its branches to make me a cradle.

My father brought me down into the lowlands 

through poppy-specked paths more undulating than a flock of sheep.

The sun in the yard where he brought me rises and sets

at the cue of a worker's song.

Fine particles of straw fall here more often than snow.

The sheep's bleat bounces off the horizon and returns.

In the morning,

I thrust the pitchfork into the hay as hard as I can.

With its every toss, I give birth to a sunset.

The sheep's tongues withhold it.

With every throw of water into the trough, I give birth to clouds.

Their tongues suck them dry.

In the afternoon, I help with the cooking.

The village cats try to get a share of the lunch.

The women of the family drive them away with sticks.

In the evening, I pen the sheep with the women of the family.

With their every bleat, the sky slowly turns into the bottom of a river.

I want to dive into it, but it is still too early.

It is the only thing that renews itself from morning to morning.

While I'm beneath it,

I wait to return

into its womb from which I descended.

I who was lowered into the vineyard and brought into the lowlands.

 

Martina Matijević is a Croatian poet and artist. Her work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Acorn, Cold Moon Journal, Chrysanthemum, and MAINTENANT. She was named one of Europe's top 100 haiku poets in her first year of writing, and her recent longer poems are forthcoming in 1455 Women’s Anthology, The Mad River, and Mushroom Rain.