This Is It, Your - Magdalena Horvat

poem without any aim or pretension

to be another source of your tension—

a post-apocalyptic poem that no one

will read anyway;

found it after you’d shut the door, after

the fray. Inside my palm, while I

held onto the handle in vain.

It had hidden, afraid, in the space

between my fingers:

it took me great pains to tease it out.

But I know it’s yours.

You must’ve left it some day at my place,

some day when you held my hand — and

now I thought, maybe I’d better

give it back.

Still, you might’ve forgotten what it’s like

and you’ll think it’s only an excuse

to send you a letter—

but it’s not a letter, see? This is your

poem: left behind, nearly dead,

a sort of a post-mortem in a postscript,

a sort of a futile something unsaid.

---

Magdalena Horvat (Born 1978) Macedonia

Source: Blesok no. 45