Monday, 17 November 2014

Another female poet writes about men, this time Maria Barnas (1973- )


I think of the man I was fond of.
Am I still fond of him?
How many fears does that make?

Our plates grew emptier
And at the edge lies a flower that’s been cut
out of radishes. A slight, exuberant life.

Not for consumption, he’s well aware.

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