There were a few others with this one that I’ll share eventually. They were a strange glimpse into my past, written in different decade, in a different country, from a different perspective, with different hopes and desires.
Of course, I remember writing them, but in a lot of ways, finding them again was more like coming across a book of poems in a library and enjoying what was written than finding something that I had written myself.
My wife and children don’t know that I write poetry. And I haven’t talked about it with them because 1. until recently, it was only something that I did in a past life, and 2. translating the poems into the language we speak together is beyond my ability.
My father-in-law is even an aspiring haiku poet. I enjoy listening to him talk about poetry and even trying to understand the haiku that he has written, but I don’t talk about mine.
Funny, isn’t it