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well she starts with hello how are you
i say, i am fine how about you?

she is not, perhaps, she has a quarrel
with her boyfriend
and they will soon be married this september
then to be changed this june

is she confused? i ask myself as i type
my messages, she says, maybe,

then we shifted to movies,
wings, chicago, as good as it gets,
the corny titanic, and i recommended

il postino, i tell her, watch it tonight
and you will like neruda
and this postman and this love

how a poet makes love
more open and visible and
expressable
to the lips of a seasick man in an island
that does not move with time

slow, and almost forgotten
until, the son of a dead man
who thanked the poet
talks to him

his father gone
but the love still lingers
in the island
where some poems were born
because
one must love
and be loved and the poems must give the tongue

for that expression.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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