A man in his early forties, bare-chested
spends hours on his balcony, or his window
right opposite our apartment, across the street
on the third floor; curious to see, hear.
As when the older lady walked on the street
and every once in a while screamed back,
as if she were yelling in anger at someone, something
in Hungarian—so we couldn’t understand;
but the man brought out his wife, daughter
to see, witness for themselves, the truth,
hear, and understand this woman’s problem.
They must have spoken Hungarian, but
did they understand, see, or even hear clearly?
Biljania D. Obradoviċ
from her book Frozen Embraces
Belgrade and Merrick, 2000
used with permission of the poet