Written by Aya Telmissany 

“It carries the smell of wilted jasmine and fallen skies…”

“What Poetry Does”

See what Poetry does—it escapes me

Like a child playing hide-and-seek

Concealed in the most obvious places thinking

That I don’t see it—but I do. I pretend.


Lest it learns to hide better and deprive me

Of the pleasures I take in watching it.

See what Poetry does—it serpents

With the milk in my coffee and I


Drink it. I feel it in this late autumn breeze; it carries

The smell of wilted jasmine and fallen skies and I let it

Embrace me. See what Poetry does—

It hides between the vibrations


Of his vocal chords when he laughs and if I listen closely

I can almost see it gently pulling these lines like a harp player.

See what Poetry does—it hides within the weave

Of my veil and rains with the fringes at its edge.


See what Poetry does—it sleeps,

Folded in words between the pages

Of my books, waiting for me to

Wake it up. To speak it. To give it life.