I want to write [a poem] about us
but there is no us
There is you, far
and me, too close.
There is you, unknown.
I want to write about the time you said I was cold
while I stared at the sea, dry
I want to write about the way your legs told the truth,
but I have now forgotten what that was
The silly jokes.
I want to write about us,
and that you, and that me
I would write about all of you if I knew how to:
There was a time when sheets were white,
and coffees were made with cow milk.
About the author:
Ingrid Solbrig is a writer