Poetry: Aftermath by Andrea Jurjević

“Aftermath,” by poet and translator Andrea Jurjević, performs the haunting which is its subject: the fall invades, inevitable. Filled with incredible color and texture, each tercet rolls forward as if of the ocean—as if to swallow our lost and our brave farers of the stars.



the hot Late morning rain punches
the hot pavement. Below
the hot the road hugging the cliff,

a friend’s daughter is pulled
the hot from the sea. I’ll hear about
her death tomorrow, how

the hot her Vespa, as if nowhere else
to go, rammed into the curve
the hot of the guardrail, coiled past

bare rocks, the dappled yellow
the hot spread of thorny brooms.
It’ll rain the entire summer,

the hot burnt, scat-black bits of bike.
And you, my American-night,
the hot a stranger to my spoiled blue

sliver of the world, exhale smoke,
the hot then draw your tongue down
my stomach, like an agile fish

the hot darts in the churning ship wake,
as if we’re more than just citizens
the hot of the Republic of Descent.

As if falling is an option, simple
the hot as choosing a left or right turn,
pouring cream into coffee

the hot or leaving it pure, black.
As if the handful of hours
the hot news takes to travel the ocean night

matter not one bit, not when
the hot there’s a barefoot dream captain
fixing to take me star roving.



Andrea Jurjević

Andrea Jurjević is a poet and translator from Rijeka, Croatia. She is the author of Small Crimes, winner of the 2015 Philip Levine Poetry Prize, and translator of Mamasafari (Diálogos, 2018), a collection of prose poems by Croatian author Olja Savičević. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

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