I knew her when
She learned her letters;
She liked me too.
We shared a tent;
Followed the sparks fading in the full moon's face.
Draped water over our skins at midnight.
She bickered with her mother,
Whom she mothered today.
She once had a mole
Only we two knew.
I knew her then.
That's the fact of it.
She rebelled,
Then surpassed naysayers and detractors.
I knew her, then.
Got to know her at her best-
A sharer, and keeper,
One who wasn't one to rest.
I knew her without discretion;
Like when she partied at Mardi Gras,
Wearing string-beads, blowing saxes,
Something she never spoke of.
Then, this cannot be her.
I knew her, and,
I didn't know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Francie, this is the first I've read of you, and I very much enjoyed it. I like poems that make you think, make you wonder about possibilities. Did she hide her true self from you so well, all along? Did she change? Did you simply outgrow her? I had a friend, once, and we were like two peas in a pod- - but I grew and she didn't, and eventually our differences made us grow apart. Sad, but true. Thank you for capturing this so well.