would have in it
a mother, a child
in a cellar,
hiding as the sky began its falling.
(Look what's left
of the place where they were hiding:
a diary, a scrap of bread, a toy.)
And then, very softly, as the bootsteps came,
a mother lifting water
to the child's lips
saying your father
was like soft rain in my orange trees.
Never forget you were made in wild joy.Poetry by Joseph Fasano, “The Last Love Poem”, shared on Instagram by @joseph.fasano on November 27, 2023