Sunday, November 29, 2015

Shmavon Azatyan: A DAY ABOUT HER

I don’t know how to do it -
I want to write a poem about her; 
It keeps  
trying to break through.

I can’t let it come out just like that -
you put words together to say what you feel,
and an imperfection leads to 

I can’t resist…
This day is your and my day, 
so I take you by the hand,
and we walk in the park. 
We look for words 
we set tones
we look for tensions
we set clues…

There is a lot ahead –
love script,
love sms,
love notes,
romantic lunch,
kiss on the wharf,

It seems simpler to let us
play it by ear.
Your urgent eyes seek wonder:
it’s still August,
yet the leaves’ edges have turned amber;
the taxi driver makes a mistake,
but we escape an accident.

We both are surprised at how we haven’t seen
the sweet olive along the quay for months.
Holding my hand tight, 
you wait until I kiss you,
then you tell me 
I am the best thing 
that has ever happened to you.

The bus is delayed, 
and we run late for the museum -
we sit in the garden,
where people talk about the rescheduled rain,
the vagaries of late summer
and the treacherous autumn.

You wonder,
I wonder, too –
When will the wonder arrive?

We try –
on the lawn I’m kissing your forehead,
you point to the vessel skyline and spread
your arms, so I get inside your embrace,
I prepare to say something most serious…
But wind gets high,
and we run into a bookshop.

The day rolls on -
faces, croissant, matinee, crossings, 
crowds, underground, kiosks,
coffee, park bench, waterfront, 
lolling skiffs, love stories, clouding,
seafood restaurant, ride in taxi, kiss beneath trees … 
There seems to be no end,
and we seem to have lost the track to the beginning.

But the day closes in,
and I will have to bring my writing
to an end  -
I’m not sure
how I will ever be able to tell her
that I love her.

This poem was published in Lost Tower Publications in 2013

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