This is what we had wasn’t it.
A slow sad song that was stuck
in my head for weeks.
Like the time the sink broke
and dripped water till the city
stopped. We were young
and young is what we had
clenched tight in soft fists
from soap and formaldehyde.
The way we never agreed on
whether a sunset was greater
than a sunrise and how very
wrong we all were, but we had
this and that was all that was
needed. How to explain it.
This was not a that or a poem
like any other. It was the way
you talked about how Plath
made you feel alive and the
irony in that statement. There
was always the irony we had
along with the beat of our own
drums. An orchestra could have
never kept up. We always agreed
on that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yes. Ben you continue to sweep beauty and youth... humility & love. best care, sjg xx