Black Hand Anita Lipnicka
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His black hand
On my white belly
And I can’t even pronounce his name
The saxophone
Keeps on playing
Origami birds fly above my head
I’m 15
And I miss home
But only happy letters get across the sea
If not your eyes
That saw it all
I could easily pretend it was just a dream
Dear Anna,
It’s good you don’t keep in touch,
How would we talk about it now?
On my white belly
And I can’t even pronounce his name
The saxophone
Keeps on playing
Origami birds fly above my head
I’m 15
And I miss home
But only happy letters get across the sea
If not your eyes
That saw it all
I could easily pretend it was just a dream
Dear Anna,
It’s good you don’t keep in touch,
How would we talk about it now?
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