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 

misunderstanding.   

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,

silences,

love sms,

glances,

love notes,

romantic lunch,

kiss on the wharf,

rain…

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