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In the city, I search for myself and cannot find her –

shoes tapping against cobblestone pavements and beads of
sweat like a crown atop my forehead, I forage street after
street, a cartographer with two handfuls of faulty maps.

(...)

false histories

​at the break of dawn, as sunlight stretches slowly
over the coasts of your body, I begin to run.

(...)

the sculptor

There is a city both big and small enough to hold the entire
solar system in its hands, and there is a woman lovesick enough
to steal the universe and offer it to the man that she loves.

(...)

nine views (or how to eat the solar system for breakfast)

cw; death

(...)

My mind still dips its paintbrush into wrong colors– for a moment, 
my mother’s voice sounds like someone else. For a moment, I expect 
ghosts to come out of the room whose vacancy I’ve occupied, 
time to rewind itself back to wh

Tamara Bašić

Selected work (28 publications)