What I Want to Say by Samuel Salerno

Why are the things that need to be said so often out of our reach-- An unsalted soup to my lips; the air that weaves past me on long runs; or the emptiness of a full glass of wine-- The bird's wing I cannot touch. Why do we look for the things that don't want us-- As if in their having we could bury our grief. Finding is losing-- Loss is a warm flame we can hold our hands to.

PREVIOUS TABLE OF CONTENTS NEXT Biography

Copyright © 2025 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors. No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.