you asked me what I had done with your letters
-if I had even opened them-
if I had read them
I might have known then that you left her;
that you were coming in the spring.
and what can I say but that I might have?
I might have but, there were so many other things
-the sky in April seemed endless, cloudless
and I couldn’t stop searching it.
in May I hung the laundry out to dry in the still cool air.
when I made my bed it smelled of wind, of dew.
in June the strawberries bloomed and ripened
just like always in the shelter near the door.
what can I say – your letters
I might have read them, but what good would it have done?
what good would it have done without you here to speak the words?