Stuck with one another like the twin
golden eagles in the Crna Gora flag. How I
resented that. Still worse, I hate how much we
look alike one another, just like our proud Balkan flag.
Yet, you treated me the way a resident
of Montenegro would treat their stray dogs—neglect, beatings,
and worse, disregard.
Lower than nothing. At times, I forget how blue your
eyes were—like the ocean. And you forget that mine
are hazel—the green summer leaves, changing to a
crisp autumn brown. Only to fall and float on your
waters for thirty years.
You inhaled the oxygen from your
cigarettes as they glowed with fire.
Ashed away by the same grey
smoke you exhaled with every breath.
I held your children with my arms, only
to feel their pain at your passing.
Carried as extra weight, like those
heavy hockey sticks you loved so.
You once said that your own happiness doesn’t
matter as long as everyone else around
you is happy. It didn’t matter that you called me
a waste of life, a nobody, and a good for nothing, you
wanted me to be happy. It didn’t matter how you
pummeled my head against the concrete, thinking
I was going to die. That pale pavement had no love
for me, and yet, wanted me to be happy.
And I was Godly stupid happy.
When I said I couldn’t love you, and
you turned from water to broken glass, and
you quieted from the cuts I delivered.
Brate moj, I am dog-tired of you.
Edis Rune was born in Kosovo and is of Montenegrin descent. He is a poet, novelist, and short-story writer, as well as a Queen’s College graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in English literature. He currently resides in New York. For more of his poetry, follow him here.
Photo by Geng Sittipong Sirimaskasem on Unsplash
