This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums 

that were in 

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me 

they were delicious

so sweet 

and so cold

— 'phfina comment: Got nothing, m'dears. I got nothing. But how come I want to cry when I read this poem?

Okay, I do got something. Breathe after each line. "I have eaten [breath] the plums [breath] that were in [breath] the icebox [breath] [breath] ..." This poem's soul is in its breaths. It says so much in its silence and pauses. So little is going on in the foreground, and behind it, behind the apology and regret is an entire world, a well of sadness than I can only take a tiny sip from the ladle drawn from just a bucket-full pulled from this infinite depth that is this poem. To read this poem is to die.

Damn it, my eyes are leaking! Excuse me a sec while I go to the bathroom (a.k.a. 'phfina's crying/recovery room), your drink will be on the bar momentarily, sir.