February 7, 2012


We walked along the stream
of counterfeiters and vendors.
Canal Street on a Thursday morning.
I held our bubble teas,
one in each hand,
while you worked on peeling
a half-drunk coconut.

Laughing, I followed
as you pointed at each guy
whose clothes I would look better in.
I laughed because you were so serious,
coconut bits covered and Canal Street scented,
minutes away from a job interview in SoHo.

I had to clean you up before you walked in.
You kissed me goodbye.
You were wearing my hoodie.

Five hours later,
you gave it back,
coconut bits-less and you-scented.

I can count the deeds and feats
I did and laid like roses shaped napkins of
surrender before your feet.
Like fragile bubbles floating
from toy guns wielded by foreigners along the canal.

Against your skin they burst violent
but so small they go unnoticed.
My deeds and feats,
they went unnoticed.

I can count the seconds in each
of the 5 hours.   The 5 hours we were apart.
When I didn’t know
you changed your mind.

I can count the months
I left the hoodie in my car.
Coconut bits-less and you-scented.
I washed it recently. 
It hangs deep in my closet.

I walk along Canal
past bargaining counterfeiters,
past foreigners wielding plastic guns.
The past as distant as the months
and 5 hours since.

The old stream still runs beneath the street.

And the air carries your scent.



  1. :-) Took a minute to look around and u have a cool stuff on here so adding you to my google connect.. maybe follow each other?..let's talk soon!

    Hugs from NYC!


  2. I began my writing career with poetry and that is something that never gets old.

    Beautiful words...

  3. This comment has been removed by the author.

  4. crack your whip: thanks! poetry is timeless

    Smita: :)

    Shiva: thank you!

    traveldesignery: great blog!

  5. Well written. I can feel a bit of that; just that I walk along the Michigan avenue :)

  6. just one word ...wow



  7. So fresh and so wonderfully wrapped in poetic air! Love it :)


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