you won’t call. Again, I dreamt
of a fountain in Croatia
in the middle of a beautiful square. Edmund and his girlfriend
tried to convince me it wasn’t a dream. I insisted. You won’t
remember this. In Whitechapel, a girl
leans from her window
and yells to a boy in the street, her silk pyjamas
rippling. Joy? I wonder,
the bus turning a corner. Above us, the sky
quivers like a vast, dark plot. What wouldn’t I do
to abate my fear of loneliness? What wouldn’t
you? I can’t show you the moon,
but it’s perfectly round
and small as the tip of your finger
or a door.
TALIN TAHAJIAN is from Massachusetts. You can find her poems in POETRY, Narrative, Best New Poets, The Kenyon Review, Pleiades, TriQuarterly, and elsewhere. She’s a PhD student at Yale and an assistant editor of The Yale Review.