Written by Aya Telmissany
“What Poetry Does”
See what Poetry does—it escapes me
Like a child playing hide-and-seek
Concealed in the most obvious places thinking
That I don’t see it—but I do. I pretend.
Lest it learns to hide better and deprive me
Of the pleasures I take in watching it.
See what Poetry does—it serpents
With the milk in my coffee and I
Drink it. I feel it in this late autumn breeze; it carries
The smell of wilted jasmine and fallen skies and I let it
Embrace me. See what Poetry does—
It hides between the vibrations
Of his vocal chords when he laughs and if I listen closely
I can almost see it gently pulling these lines like a harp player.
See what Poetry does—it hides within the weave
Of my veil and rains with the fringes at its edge.
See what Poetry does—it sleeps,
Folded in words between the pages
Of my books, waiting for me to
Wake it up. To speak it. To give it life.