Leyla Shukurova

Dec 4, 2023 | wordswithoutborders.org | Silvia Arazi |Leyla Shukurova |Ruth Kemp |Alexander Aguayo

It’s a calm, sunny midday toward the end of January, and the city seems to stand still. I arrive at my sister’s house for a family lunch. It could be just another gathering, siblings getting together on any ordinary day. But it isn’t. It’s the first time we’re seeing each other since my mother’s funeral. Our mother’s funeral. I ring the doorbell. My sister comes to open the entrance gate. She’s wearing denim shorts and white sneakers, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.