- *I'm currently in the process of transferring some posts from my old blog to here – once this process is complete I'll begin with new posts*
- Entry for August 28, 2005
Below is the first poem I've written as an adult. I worked on it during a series of particularly awful Monday evening seminars this spring. I am not a poet, but sometimes it's good to challenge yourself. For me, it always proves difficult to say what I mean with anything resembling brevity.
"Call me Paul." He said.
And I did, scared to mangle
the intricate Arabic syllables
that created his name.
Through chrome-colored mornings
we rode the bus together.
He told me about his father's bank,
swathed in sunlight somewhere East.
"This is Paul." He said, calling
me on the phone one night.
In the background I heard
beer-soaked laughter and
he admitted the call was a dare.
I thought about nutmeg skin, black hair
and the silver rings he always wore.
"Do you like Julia Roberts?" He asked
The rain smeared against the window and he traced
zigzags in the steam.
"You remind me a bit of her;
the way you laugh, it's nice."
Just once I let his cheek brush mine
and for a moment linger there.
I shut my eyes.
I imagined a whole life.