16.6.11

The Best Poem You'll Never Read


If you ever come to Redding, this is a safe bet for great food and atmosphere.


My love - sitting across from me in a cozy booth at Market Street Steakhouse last night for our fifteenth anniversary - hands me a small, folded piece of paper and says, "I'm not a poet."

She is a poet

She's a poet in everything she does

As she feels life so deeply around her,
as she takes it all in and then returns it to the universe,
through her voice,
through her smile,
through her amazing and fearless capacity for love,
she creates poetry

She is a poet

She wrote four life-long poems

Brilliant, unique beats,
brave
kind
loving
and strong of mind
these four write themselves more and more, which makes her sad

She is a poet

She writes lines across my heart every day

hieroglyphic
calligraphic
the deepest drum
the sweetest string
a symphony of words and tune
a screaming whispered rune

So, anyway, there we were, sitting in this romantic daze, drinking dirty martinis and eating some fabulous food, and she hands me this little page from her notebook. It's a poem. A real poem. She wrote it for me. And it's lovely.

My first instinct was to post it here. But alas, that will not be possible. That was the first thing she made me promise I would not do.

Because, she says, she is not a poet.

But she is.

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