Men Poem by Maria Barnas
Men
I think of the man I loved
Do I love him?
How many fears does that make?
Our plates became emptier
and on the edge a flower, cut
from a radish. A small exuberant life.
Not meant to eat, he knows.
Translation: 2008, Donald Gardner
Friday, August 25, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: flower
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8/28/2026 7:30:32 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
