two poems
Updated: Oct 14
by Jeremy Teddy Karn
waiting
Iowa City’s weather
compared to Monrovia’s
is not bearable.
we sit
by the glass window
all night
waiting for the first
snowflake to arrive.
even the roofs
wait.
snow removal trucks
wait—
giving meaning
to their mechanical lives.
the hours
between tonight’s
wind rising and falling
sniff our skin.
luring us to nudity.
i read you poems
by your forefathers—
the lamp grows lemony,
moths find paradise
in its golden hue.
you ask,
why they write only of love—
who doesn’t write
about love
when it’s all they’ve known
since America?
i want to say.
while waiting for you to say
sorry.
and i lie,
waiting
for you to make love to me.
the joy of snow-watching
fades.
i thought of my people’s
writing that celebrates
the April 22nd’s execution
of your people.
you wait for me to say
sorry too.
all these years,
my people and yours
wait for God,
America,
to mutter sorry.
history lesson
there are happy people
and there are sad people
we are both,
peopled
in an apartment
shy of curtains.
the daylight is
an orange blossom
mellowing on the rug.
afternoon breeze
traces autumn
leaves on lawns,
traces the museum
glass of our bodies.
our country,
a patched
map of daily conversations.
the current government
is of my people
and we study
the melancholy of it,
head counting
your people—
almost erased by
my people.
i tally the footprints
on the grass,
they are just four.
i reckon your smiles,
they are just
frowns.
some day—
in our own country
we’ll watch the sea
the very large sea,
not these lonely oaks
stalled in purple leaves.
Jeremy Teddy Karn was born in Monrovia, Liberia. He received his MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where he was awarded fellowships in support of his work. He is currently a PhD student and an MD Anderson Fellow at the University of Houston. He can be reached through his website: www.jeremyteddykarn.com.