Now that I am back in San Diego, I have joined a group of writers on Sunday. Each worked on two prompts. The second was a stunning and large photograph from the National Geographic. It depicted a group of migrants or refugees walking. The central woman with a white head scarf was the only one looking straight at the photographer and, thus, me. We all glanced at the photograph briefly, did not read, and each started to write for a few minutes.
I actually do not read that much poetry. I wish I would. In 2012, I heard Dragica Rajčić read her poetry. She is Croatian and lives in Switzerland. This volume of poetry is in German; she also writes in Croatian, which I cannot read. I did not like the English translation, also presented at the reading, because it had eliminated all the idiosyncracies of the original. I believe it is the little nicks that make this poem.
And if you like the little texts — poems I wrote or translated — they are, in no particular order, under Just texts.