One orphaned oak leaf from his uniform.
Loose change. A pair of collar stays. A tube
of mentholated chapstick going warm.
An accordion of ancient Trojans, lube
that's meant to tingle when it touches skin.
The leather cuff he bought in Santa Fe.
A sample of cologne that smells like gin,
cigars, and prohibition, the satin sway
of bodies in a sweating room. A card
his mother sent—she wonders when he'll write
again. A tin of peppermints now hard
and powdery as chalk. A tiny light
he shone on shadows as we lay in bed
(bright spheres) until the battery went dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem