I love it when poems tell a story. Sometimes the story is short—just a few lines—and it’s just enough for me.

Today's poem (originally published in Eunoia Review) by Denise Weuve has a story.

Have you ever read a poem and assumed that the poet was writing about her/his own life? I have a poet friend who says she has written about having an affair and about enduring her father’s death, and neither of those experiences have happened in her life. 

Poetry is not truth. That is, it might holds truths, but they are not necessarily ones from our own lives. Unlike memoir, poetry doesn’t have to be true. That’s one of the many reasons I love writing poetry—it gives me freedom.

I have never asked Denise Weuve if this poem is a true story from her life, or if she even has a brother. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s “true.” It matters that I like it.

Here is her poem being read out loud on the Magic City Poetry YouTube channel, founded by Robert McCready. 

Thank you, Denise Weuve, for sharing this poem with us.

You can find Denise Weuve’s website here.