Who doesn’t know I come from Rastušje
And went to school in Podvinje?…
A winter’s morning. Frost.
I’m walking alone from the village.
Passing beside the frozen Glogóvica
Suddenly I hear
Crackling, crunching, crashing… Someone’s crossing in my direction?
I immediately think of the last night’s talk
Of wolves coming out of Bosnia.
Begin to run,
Without a backward glance
Nearly to Podvinje
Where, in tears, I meet the milkmen.
The milkmen asked me: What’s up?
Nothing, nothing, I said;
And off I go.
That evening my mother happened to mention
That the ice on the Glogóvica was cracking with the cold.
I heard it too! I said;
About this poem
This poem, representing Croatia, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.