Written by Wawan Kurniawan, and published as a part of Mekong Review — Volume 12 Issue 45. Nov 01, 2026
This is the two thousand, three hundred and seventy-first poem he has read to his wife. After the illness began slowly erasing Narina’s memory, he decided to read her a poem every morning to keep that memory alive.
Before going to sleep, Ranto writes verses for Narina—sometimes finished, sometimes no more than a title. Age has made him less productive than he once was. Gone are the days when he gladly spent hours hunting for the one word that matched his feelings. Or the days when no word ever felt entirely right. Even on those days, Ranto insisted on sitting down to write until, without his realising it, the poem arrived, fully formed. But since Narina lost her memory, Ranto has had to give his days to watching over her and caring for her.
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This is the two thousand, three hundred and seventy-first poem he has read to his wife. After the illness began slowly erasing Narina’s memory, he decided to read her a poem every morning to keep that memory alive.
Before going to sleep, Ranto writes verses for Narina—sometimes finished, sometimes no more than a title. Age has made him less productive than he once was. Gone are the days when he gladly spent hours hunting for the one word that matched his feelings. Or the days when no word ever felt entirely right. Even on those days, Ranto insisted on sitting down to write until, without his realising it, the poem arrived, fully formed. But since Narina lost her memory, Ranto has had to give his days to watching over her and caring for her.
Read the full article here.
/ Subscription may be required.
Madison O’ Friel / Unsplash
