Skip to content

I won’t be able to write from the grave

so let me tell you what I love:

oil, vinegar, salt, lettuce, brown bread, butter,

cheese and wine, a windy day, a fireplace,

the children nearby, poems and songs,

a friend sleeping in my bed—

and the short northern nights.

[I won’t be able to write from the grave]

Fanny Howe


More from
Poem of the Week

Ann Lauterbach

Count

Mira Rosenthal

Metamorphoses

translated from the Polish written by
Tomasz Różycki