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zulu-samperfasPoems
Years ago: 93-94 NYC: Columbia trying to finish that thesis script in Butler library sitting at a wooden table in a room full of wooden tables covered in a vast ceiling creativity squeezed from my brain my boyfriend waiting for me only a notebook, a row of payphones on the first floor a line forms as undergrads wait for the inter-college phone Today, 2012 Berkeley: Doe library Looks like Butler but nicely painted not ravaged by the weather and city rows of wooden desks with lamps and outlets I write on my laptop, a cell phone in my bag The row of payphones on the first floor are just empty booths I feel like, I could look up, and you would be standing there You, my boyfriend, who became my husband My best friend, a difficult one who I stood by against the odds You would be standing there, or maybe sitting down reading a large novel in French, and we would get up and leave together for a dinner on Broadway I look up. The room is quiet and clear. The air is fresh, no sounds of the inner city You are not there You live only in my mind I wonder, how it was for you, years ago, in your year here at Berkeley before you ran home, uncomfortable on this strange coast, this new world I wish I could say to you doe library looks like butler library isn't that interesting when I'm here, I feel like I'm there But you, my past persecutor and abuser, would not listen you new wife would be horrified. It's such a simple thought I don't want anything more I'm afraid of you Just wish I could connect, with that good part at an innocent time when things were working
0
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
Time Splice
Years ago: 93-94 NYC: Columbia trying to finish that thesis script in Butler library sitting at a wooden table in a room full of wooden tables covered in a vast ceiling creativity squeezed from my brain my boyfriend waiting for me only a notebook, a row of payphones on the first floor a line forms as undergrads wait for the inter-college phone Today, 2012 Berkeley: Doe library Looks like Butler but nicely painted not ravaged by the weather and city rows of wooden desks with lamps and outlets I write on my laptop, a cell phone in my bag The row of payphones on the first floor are just empty booths I feel like, I could look up, and you would be standing there You, my boyfriend, who became my husband My best friend, a difficult one who I stood by against the odds You would be standing there, or maybe sitting down reading a large novel in French, and we would get up and leave together for a dinner on Broadway I look up. The room is quiet and clear. The air is fresh, no sounds of the inner city You are not there You live only in my mind I wonder, how it was for you, years ago, in your year here at Berkeley before you ran home, uncomfortable on this strange coast, this new world I wish I could say to you doe library looks like butler library isn't that interesting when I'm here, I feel like I'm there But you, my past persecutor and abuser, would not listen you new wife would be horrified. It's such a simple thought I don't want anything more I'm afraid of you Just wish I could connect, with that good part at an innocent time when things were working
zulu-samperfas
Written by
zulu-samperfas
American
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
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