Secret Gardens

Shake the morning

Off your lips

And look, look hard

To find that sound

You once made in secret

Among the crowds

Around you

          It will rain

          And nothing will be washed away

          As you rub your present

          Like an old piece of clothing

          Upon the washboard

          Of yesterday.

          Nothing will be washed away

          No matter how hard you rub

          Under the rain

          That sound likes secret thoughts

          You often had

          During humid sunsets

          On a balcony

          Of iron and concrete

Touch your belly

Who was there once?

You are alone

In a room without a bed

In a bed without promises

Wondering if ash trees will shade

Your window, at noon

   

           You have to make your own clouds

           And walk again upon that rocky beach

           Where he played with your toes

           You have to find that inner river

           Where you threw yourself

           For a swim at first

           But to drown one night.

           Touch your belly:

           Who was there then?

Mix your morning taste

With the sound hard pillows make

When you turn around

As if to turn the page

Of a book you hope to write

One September day

When rain cannot wash

Its own face

Of the times

You lost

To yourself

May 8, 2014

©Vahé Kazandjian, 2014