The Best Poem You'll Never Read
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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