Poem for Monday

Rather than exclaim over my shock at how cold it is for an April day, I'll substitute by offering a personal poem. When my French class last semester centered around poetry analysis, I found it extremely challenging. Because I lack a musical ear, I struggled with hearing the syllabic breakdowns and rhythms. However, I still enjoyed penning small poems in French. This poem grew out of that experience.


in translation

when I write to you in
French
it becomes a labour
of love, of course and
of academia, of deliberation

and yet too scientific
les pieds se mêlent—
I count the syllables, weigh
The hémistiche
like the scientist
who titrates carefully
o the wonders of analytical thought!

instead,I write in
my mother tongue
whose kind nature
and comfortable contours
that familiarity and welcome

reminds me of you