Hana Davis

closure

 

yesterday was breathtaking in the simplest of ways

a collage of crushing hugs and easy laughter

of reaffirmed sentiments and a watercolour sky

one by one, we now head off

awakening tomorrow to a world familiar yet foreign

where your cobblestones are mine no more

and the duet of our shadows becomes off beat

 

in this universe we’re forced to trapeze through

we fight the drowsiness from nights of hesitant sleep

trying desperately to conquer the heaviness at heart

the one that threatens to overwhelm

 

the wine last night sat untouched

forgotten for once in a summer of dizzying escapades

we wanted to remember everything–

the red of the moon

the warmth of smiles tucked into shared blankets

your soft strumming

 

each bud

each rose

each thorn

 

they say lunar eclipses mark beginnings and ends

times of great emotion and even greater change

perhaps this is a sign

that i should listen more intently to the stars

 

Last sunsets aflame

 

from the mustard yellow water taxi

you recede into the distance

your skyline shining, punctuated

broken by soaring spires and the dazzle of a setting sun  

 

there’s no way to sum you up

to package the heartbeat that gives you life

i’ve tried— to write to draw to photograph

but somehow the grey of my graphite

is always slightly off

too dark for your delicacy

too sketchy for your permanence  

 

so instead i settle with reading

reading to memorize your cadence and light

to etch every cobble stone and off white building

every rusty ladder that dips into the harbour

every wednesday morning pastry and late studio night

 

i grasp every breath you take

and hold it close to my own

 

there’s a word that means the scent of grass

set aflame by gentle early morning rain

intangible yet familiar

prehistoric yet new

pale yet fluorescent  

 

petrichor—

my copenhagen

i’d say you are just that

 

Hana Davis | hana.davis@yale.edu