Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying.
Rushed through the dark house.
Stopped, remembering. Stood looking
out at bright moonlight on concrete.
Even if you divorce for a good reason, the process of going from we to me, is a daunting one.
I’m rather amazed at the low popularity of this poem. Possibly the average reader hasn’t experienced a divorce and the distorted time that can surround it… Then again, such is poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is a snowoman on my neighbor's front lawn. She wears a bonnet in the moonlight and shrinks away a bit more each day. She is divorcing him.