why is the walk back from the bar or the movie weighed with feet and darkest nights? hangovers and friendship evaporated, wise things I said, why is it they turn into stupid at the stroke of midnight? why, oh why, is nascent nightly glow extinguished by voicemails and bills that fill inboxes and deadlines, when I take a night from the world? tell me, why does the sky stab me with a thousand stars, that look like my father’s eyes? why can’t I capture the moon in its veil, and sleep on silvery cheeks? or at least the purple curtains of dusk, the clouds bursting in day’s surrender to night. why can’t I keep all these things longer than an hour? for three or four, even, before I must walk out into the world, pretending to smile, an obsequious smile and hope no one sees it wobble
About the Poet:
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.