I didn't know

I didn't know people.
I didn't know people read.
I didn't know people read me.

I didn't know that entering the library, over a year overdue, with glasses and new words, Deutsch words, words of poets, Dante's Inferno back at home after a 2011 in my dusty corner, a woman would just smile, say "I wouldn't call you if there wasn't anything important".

I didn't know.
I didn't know my writing.
I didn't know my writing is important.
I didn't know my writing is important to people.

I didn't know that this village of mud and alcohol reads, reads poetry, reads poetry and likes it, though says it's "hard".
I didn't know the poetry I wrote two years ago, the cliché and occasionally too deep for its own good, is hard.
I didn't know people enter that small library at the end of the word, asking for Nasim's poetry, asking for Nasim's poetry reading.
I didn't know the people who laugh at me on the corridors long for my words. That they will ever listen. I guess I'm now going to be richer in so much knowing it will overwhelm me like a big salty turquoise wave in the mouth, a wave you love, a wave that strangles you, a wave (or your body, or your body, or a tide) that is passionate.

Yesterday when there was snow, I was what-the-helling. Now I have no words but dziękuję*.

Let me know first dear, I need to put the posters up.

______

*thank you in Polish
PS: No, this isn't my second NaPo poem, in case you were half-wondering. It's just a quick result of absolute amazement. I hope that, after reading, you will know why.