i am not surprised with what she just said
to make a poem of her life
she needs years and years
perhaps a hundred years
if need be to make the best poem
of her life
her words are days and days
her stanzas her dwelling place
her commas and punctuations
her naps and long hours of sleep
her poem is her life
she lives inside it
she breathes every word every letter
and when she reads it when it is finished
she speaks her last, hounding silence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem