That Bench Poem by Francesca Johnson
That Bench
I hold a photograph
of a bench
in my hands.
A bench, amongst wild grasses,
where I once put pen to paper,
where poetry and anticipation
flowed.
A bench,
solitary on a cliff top
with views as wide as the sky.
I sigh.
And remember.
And then forget.
I am here now,
sitting on another chair.
I will not go back
to that bench
ever again.......
And by the way they removed the inscription before they moved the bench.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/29/2024 10:53:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Fran, I do believe that the three poems that I've just read could be grouped together - a little trio of letting go. Your bench is poignant. Your love for that which is lost is evident. And yet your determination to honor yourself, shines through. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥