Ayana Erdal

The disasters happened when we didn’t notice,
persimmons blackened on the trees
and your hand looked more tired than ever,
as if it had already held everything.

You listened carefully to music as to people talking
and hung the laundry just as slowly,
and the sublime lessons of flesh and blood
that others learned but we did not.
We learned how to climb stairs with a baby in one’s arms
and how to shop with less money
and pile rage upon rage.

We didn’t know about isolation,
we didn’t lock doors,
and the secrets that moved us from one room to another
allowed us to remain lovers.