I am leaving. I am leaving.
No, no. Pay no attention to those utterings. Wipe them anew with a cloth every time they emerge, just like stains of spilled cherry juice on the inside of a fridge. Let them dissolve themselves in their semantic satiation, on the lips of a woman disintegrating from the ever tighter, ever more layered family membrane.
Pull up a leopard upholstered chair and sit down. There’s always room for one more at the table. Scratches, rings from cups and glasses. Here congregates the Great Council of Shame.
Is that your real name, by the way? Oh, thank God no. Well, have some wine then, have some food, there’s plenty! Well, what would people say otherwise. What would people say?
Noises, noises. Is he who is not invited even a guest? Yes, the gasometer readings of patriarchal resounding are high. Even the floors and wardrobes have voices. But put the radio on. “Happy is the family where the woman sacrifices herself.” Catchy tune, right?
A non-imposed stroll through the market. Wrists of greased hands carefully placed around the neck – an immersion into the embrace of an old friend. A non-imposed stroll through the flea market – new guitar strings for a new melody. Correct the homeworks with a smile, correct the life.
She may not know the difference between fennel and dill, but she will plant the tomato sprouts of a new beginning. She will disentangle the firm human vines around her feet. Not cut, just loosen. For this almond tree needs its own garden.
A piece of cake, a peace of mind.
by Ivana Mitrić
Seen at the 17. GoEast – Festival des mittel- und osteuropäischen Films as part of the competition.