Bosko and Admira: Fragments From a War

SCENE 1: Sarajevo, oh Sarajevo, where the war seemed to last forever, and the Serb irregulars swigged their rajika, while they picked them off, from the hills, in the city below, one by one, or ten by ten, with mortar fire, and missiles

SCENE 4: Admira, Bosnian, Muslim, Bosko, Serbian, in love, loving, loved each other, adored each other, loved each other since childhood, never left each other, never, never left my heart, never left my mind, never left my writer’s hand, I will never forget, never, not when I visited you, not when I wrote about you, directed that play, acted, once, (with you, Maya, remember?) but I still could not bring you two back, I am so sorry, young lovers, of another world

SCENE 2: How do you negotiate a departure, from a siege, from a war-torn town, who do you pay off, who needs paying off, who can you trust, who can guarantee they will let you through, how can you know who you are dealing with? Who? Who, but the scum of the earth, or much, much worse

SCENE 3: When you were both halfway, halfway across the bridge, walking across the bridge, to freedom, away from hell, a machine gun mowed you down, hit you both with bullets, hit you again, and then again, and then went silent, and Bosko, you fell, and died, almost instantly, but Admira, oh Admira, oh my dear, dear, Admira, you dragged yourself across the alsphalt, across the tarmac, or whatever it is called, you dragged yourself, slowly, with more determination than I have ever known, and you made it, made it to your lover, threw your arm around him, and then succumbed, by that I mean you too, died, and there, they left you both, days, while they bickered, and that is all I will write, no word is worthy after that…

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