Mid-Afternoon
At 3:00 p.m. my room is lit in red,
and I am alone counting the hearts
on my ceiling.
The piano sits behind me like a quiet man.
My books tell me they prefer to sit in solitude.
At my desk, the computer hums and seems
to write my lines today.
I wonder if Emily Dickinson can hear
the click of my keyboard up in heaven
Does she write on a computer now?
I stick my fingers on each letter forcefully,
as if by the weight of each stroke
Emily can hear the words formulate
and become my poem.
Emily, can you hear me?
I look up at the hearts painted
on my ceiling moving with the sun
through the red glass box by my window.
Some days, I borrow them and stick them
behind my eyes to see - to help me write
a poem with my heart.
Today, I will borrow one again.
Tina Demirdjian
Tina Demirdjian - I write about love. I write about being Armenian. I write about my grandmother and about being a woman. I write everyday, partially because I want to - most definitely because I have to. Please look for my poetry in the forthcoming anthology entitled: Birthmark, to be published by Open Letter Journal.