By Margarita Delcheva
I often go walking in places I normally don’t
because I expect you might be there.
Your heavy hat erasing your eyebrows
and the ridiculous cravat of rolled musical papers
you hold so close.
The grandpa over there cannot stop
clapping and singing for the grandson’s picture
even after it’s too late and the boy has crossed the ocean.
The birds have their own traffic lights
for walking across the lawn.
Le Carrousel’s tra-la-la
moves even the riderless horses.
One of them has a really long mane,
which is confused when the whole thing
up and turns.
It doesn’t know whether to trail in a circle
or stick out behind straight as a beam.
Margarita Delcheva is a poet, performer, and PhD candidate in Comparative Literature at UCSB. Margarita is a founding editor at Paperbag, an online poetry and art journal, created in 2009. Her poetry book The Eight-Finger Concerto was published in Bulgaria in 2010. Also by this poet: "Forecast"