And here is where
I store the flour and rice.
And here the silverware.
Here the bread, slice by slice.
Over there in the nook
is where I keep the dustbin and brooms.
Around the corner, look
and you’ll find the other rooms.
Everything in its place,
my mother always said.
If you can’t find for it a space,
throw it out instead.
Too many stars,
an excess of trees,
Too many cars,
park them, please.
But where do you store your heartache,
where is love sequestered?
How do you contain heartbreak
and dreams that have festered?
Oh, don’t worry about the gloomy past,
There’ll be plenty of room.
I’ll make a place for them at last
in the chambers of my tomb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great piece Sonny! Your metaphor was unexpected from the beginning of the poem kind of like a candy surprise.