Women

Women from my childhood

lived in a secluded place

They carried loads of wood

on their back,

barrels full of water and

small sleepy children

up the rocky terrain

Some carried a precious gift –

a newborn in their arms

who couldn’t wait to come

into this world

They never owned a phone

wireless or telly

News traveled from mouth to mouth

in whispers

They smiled softly

but laughed only among themselves

Their children attended school

unaffected by climate conditions

They never held tea or birthday parties

by the pool on hot summer days

They went to Sunday mass

wearing the best clothes

perfumed in scent of fresh mint

to confess – to God-fearing priest –

seeking forgiveness

After the sermon, they greeted

other worshipers, then spontaneously

formed a circle

bursting –

into joyful song and dance

And on every turn they hoped

to catch a smile

on the rugged men’s faces

standing by

——

Women from my childhood

rarely ventured to the city

They felt uneasy walking

on the streets stretching forever,

where every house displayed

its own shiny number

Balconies adorned with geraniums

and self assured school girls

wearing tight tops with open décolleté

Where city ladies wore pretty frocks

white gloves, hats, silk stockings

and weightless scarves

imported from Trieste

——-

In the afternoons, after siesta –

they strolled up and down

on promenade

in elegant heels

heads held high

Their cheeks flawless

hiding behind sunglasses

like movie stars

They sat in the open cafes

sipping Turkish coffee,

taking small bites of princess puffs

Applying a new coat of rogue

and smiling discretely at

the handsome young men

passing by

——

Women of the fifties

I still remember you

(C) Dinka Bednjacic