A poem

We remember when the world forgets

the details, remembers the fails

the flaws, drinking and the infidelity.

Myth making in the islands where myth

was born, waves lap, typewriters

click and clack.

He was on my curriculum, she was a

footnote, a suicide

“Tragic waste” or was it cruelty?

rushing in to

fill the void where love had grown

once,

Picture them travelling to the island

sea spray

salted their lips ready to kiss,

eager to start

somewhere both ancient and new.

I do not know them, nor do you,

all we have

are words hung out like sponges

in the harbour of Kalymnos.

Chris P 2025.

for John