How can you claim to be alive when anything
is more important than the chubby arms wrapped
tight around your neck, the sticky hands up in your
hair, the gentle breathing of the one whose sleepy
mouth can't form your name, but whose still
wobbly steps come straight to you, whose cheek
is pressed up close to yours in sleep?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A new favorite... very powerful. The first line is incredibly gripping! Keep up great writing.