Meri Tumanyan

 

Improvisations

 

Remember this misty night,

the melody that plays along,

for this is our last.

This tune shall be

a perpetual reminder

of this tight embrace,

silence broken by music,

sobs interrupted by kisses. 

 

Remember this tune,

as well as you remember

the gloom of December,

and the loneliness enclosing

as I descend the staircase

we’ve built together.

 

With every step we take,

we plunge deeper into our soul. 

With every hand we hold,

we weave ourselves

into the fabric of humanity—

only to encounter solitude.

 

Every time we fall in love,

we tailor ourselves

to fit the expectations of

strangers lovers become.

 

Your hands have taught me

the art of tenderness—

though they’ve often left me

longing for touch. 

Each glance was a fusion,

love-making, a transcendent act

when once, we were one.

 

Tonight is the last night

I will sleep in your arms.

The very last night

you’ll kiss my eyelids

as I bring my nostrils close to yours,

inhaling your very essence. 

The maple-leaf scent of your soft skin,

the cognac that smells like cologne,

as you exhale, I will take in. 

That’s how I loved you—

from inside out.

 

Longing has been labor.

Waiting, a strenuous task.

I leave, for love’s sake:

No more hovering over you,

   clinging to your soul,

                  your space.

Go ahead,

have another glass of wine—

or the goddamn winery!

 

Life does imitate art. 

Remember this melody. 

I spent a lifetime improvising.

 

First I embraced,

just surrendered.

Then I merely tolerated

when I lost the power

to alter reality,

when love refused to be

the greatest facilitator.

 

Imagination

isn’t strong enough

to recreate a life

I thought I had.

I’ve lost the inspiration

to invent the kind of life

I always hoped we’d have.

 

Remember this gloomy night,

the composition now complete.

 

Love Is For The Big Screen

 

I’m fluent in silence. It was the hardest language

I ever had to learn. Sometimes words can mean

the difference between greeting dawn or death.

 

I know what I said, and I’m not apologizing for

things you heard. Not anymore.

I’m sorry!

 

Your love is a bottomless well without water,

and I’m tired of carrying a tune

that echoes through walls.

 

The bricks I’ve been sitting on are getting

colder, and I’ve yet to see a frog

turn into a prince.

 

Let love live on the big screen: untainted,

untouched.  Life is not a screenplay—

let alone a fairy tale.

 

I mourn the loss of me

in the presence of you,

staring into the abyss of us.

 

I grieve for moments lost, dances rarely danced,

full cups that left us thirsty, feasts

that grew a hole in the belly.

 

We kept building a house to make it feel like home.

But home is a roofless space, underneath the stars,

with two souls intertwined.