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Sample Poems by Biljana D. Obradovi?
A Letter to the Cornhusker Hotel
I don’t think you remember me, but still I want to thank you for taking the time to find and mail my inflatable green pillow which I had forgotten in my room. You could have kept it, or simply tossed it in the garbage. It was given to me by my boyfriend’s mother a few years ago. That small green neck pillow has helped me travel to China, US, and Yugoslavia.
This summer I made great use of it, putting it under my broken left foot in Belgrade. Friends took me out to cafes or restaurants, or to their homes, so I wouldn’t sit in the apartment all alone, feeling imprisoned. As you can see, it has helped me many times, so that I feel that I can’t live without it. You have really proven to me
that the Midwest has the kindest people, not like the New Yorker
who kept my fake Calvin Klein black and white scarf. I bought it from African street sellers in Florence, where I went with my boyfriend on our first Italian trip together. He married me, and ever since then it has brought me luck.
Whenever I am in Lincoln I will stay with you again.
This is why I thank you again for returning it to me.
I hope to be your guest again soon.
The Order of Spring Flowers in New Orleans
First at the beginning of the new year
my camellia blooms in front of the house
watching the front door, so I take a photo
of Petar as if measuring his growth with the bloom.
Next, on the side of the house, beside the driveway
the white blossoms of the lemon tree appear.
I can see them from the kitchen window, popping
one by one as if popcorn, smelling like a lemon meringue pie.
Then in front of the house, my little bed
bursts with bulbs of hyacinth rising up
from their sleep in the ground in the middle
of long green leaves: white, pink, even purple blooms.
After them finally the neighbor’s Japanese magnolia
bush begins blooming with large pink flowers.
I want them to last a long time, but they become leaves
too soon, so that later on I forget how beautiful the bush was.
It’s still not spring until the front yard’s
daffodils yellow the ground and sway in the wind
like little bells with white centers
outlined by bright purple, saying, “Voila!”
I’ve tried planting lily-of-the-valleys and snow drops here,
but perhaps we’re too far south for them to thrive.
But, I think of them every year, remember how Mom
sent them to me every spring in her letters,
pressed in some novel she was reading at the time.
How she knew that I loved picking
the sprigs, then putting them in front of my nose,
closing my eyes from the strong aroma.
I also miss the purple lilac bushes back home
which I’ve never seen here. They can
smell up the whole neighborhood with their
pungent perfume, like linden trees in spring.
Here we can compare these to magnolia blossoms
which come a little later, but once the big white blossoms
appear they don’t smell up the whole street like jasmine or
sweet olives whose sweet scent I love, but didn’t know before.