These days, every serving of time feels like

it can be shaped in the hand to be a love poem.

Your grandmother’s folding the grape leaves

for the dolma while your grandfather’s studies

in charcoal and ink near something uneven,

the edge of the page, swaying the sun’s fingers

in and out of all certainty. And the memories

drive through open corridors called identities,

arches under which you carved out these first

kisses that return in silent droves to feasts.

Feel free in these brief interjections of light,

for these days, the shortages run the city blocks

all night looking for some kind of new charge.

Feel the weight of your neighbor, and begin to

undress the distance, quietly, as the seconds

disappear or shift into instruments of sound

you’ve been hearing, no, making your entire

life, marking your heart’s height on the door.

Leave whatever it is that takes you away from

understanding the time you have left is now.

Alan Semerdjian is an Armenian-American writer (poems, essays), musician (songs, guitars), and educator (public education, 25 years). He teaches at Herricks High School and lives with his family in New Hyde Park, NY.