I walk through my hometown
as an uninvited guest.

Divorced
from communism

the old street has taken back
its maiden name.

I follow the steps of a lost child
watching myself

from the curtains
of memory's windows.

The doors of St Nicholas church
are rusty but open.

Inside familiar faces
and a sign

Buy candles here
they are blessed.

I count how many are needed
for the living

then for the dead
their smaller flames

burning violently
in my eyes.

Jelena Dinic