He wants to tell her of a story he read once
About that gorilla who could sign
And taught its baby to sign
How when the baby died
The flailing of her fingertips
And the movement of her hands
Said more about loss than anyone ever cared to know
She looks at him
Hot pho steam moistening her face
There is a man pacing outside the windows of the restaurant
It is a whole in a wall
In a small city
The city is *****
Next to the restaurant is a bar
They listen
Juke box bass hick thunder through the walls
She ***** a noodle into her mouth
“Is this a date,” she says
If you want it to be
“It’s not exactly romantic”
He smiles
thinks about what it means to be romantic
Remembers the list with the boxes to check off
Of will she **** me later
It’s all too generic
And we are so talented at romanticizing the trivial
That people forget how to be charming
He thinks of death-beds
And what she might say to him
Maybe it isn’t now. But later, you’ll remember this guy
And you’ll think of that weird place he took you to this one time.
It wasn’t exactly romantic.
But for whatever reason
You will remember me for doing things like this.
He wants to tell her of the gorilla
With the sad hands
His own hands tremble
He thinks of languages people spend lifetimes learning
She sips her water
Wipes sweat from her face
She smiles
It is beautiful when she smiles
He smiles too
Shivers as the doors open and the cold comes in
Maybe in some other universe
The words would have meant more to her
They would have made sense
He fills the silence with the sound of soup
She looks at him again
The thunder through the walls stops
And all he can think of
Is the gorilla who learned the language of love
And lost the need to use it
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC
He wants to tell her of a story he read once
About that gorilla who could sign
And taught its baby to sign
How when the baby died
The flailing of her fingertips
And the movement of her hands
Said more about loss than anyone ever cared to know
She looks at him
Hot pho steam moistening her face
There is a man pacing outside the windows of the restaurant
It is a whole in a wall
In a small city
The city is *****
Next to the restaurant is a bar
They listen
Juke box bass hick thunder through the walls
She ***** a noodle into her mouth
“Is this a date,” she says
If you want it to be
“It’s not exactly romantic”
He smiles
thinks about what it means to be romantic
Remembers the list with the boxes to check off
Of will she **** me later
It’s all too generic
And we are so talented at romanticizing the trivial
That people forget how to be charming
He thinks of death-beds
And what she might say to him
Maybe it isn’t now. But later, you’ll remember this guy
And you’ll think of that weird place he took you to this one time.
It wasn’t exactly romantic.
But for whatever reason
You will remember me for doing things like this.
He wants to tell her of the gorilla
With the sad hands
His own hands tremble
He thinks of languages people spend lifetimes learning
She sips her water
Wipes sweat from her face
She smiles
It is beautiful when she smiles
He smiles too
Shivers as the doors open and the cold comes in
Maybe in some other universe
The words would have meant more to her
They would have made sense
He fills the silence with the sound of soup
She looks at him again
The thunder through the walls stops
And all he can think of
Is the gorilla who learned the language of love
And lost the need to use it
This is inspired by a short story written by Amy Hempel. (One of the most talented writers to ever set foot on this earth) The title of the story is "In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried". I forget how good it feel to write until I have a really ****** day, a few beers, and some time to myself.
Request permission to use this poem