The women in blousy dimijes,
scarves hiding their hair,
don't speak English.
I, with short hair and wearing jeans,
don't speak Bosnian.
Nearby grows a fuzzy, grey-green plant.
As I stroke its softness,
I bleat, "Baa-a-a."
With my hand waggle an ear.
They look at each other for a moment,
then laugh. No dictionary needed.