Poems by Meri Hovsepyan 

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Seven Years

I was crossing the street when I saw the giant clock. 
It was displayed on one of those buildings full of windows. 
The time showed seven years and one hundred and one days. 
They need to fix this giant clock. 
This giant clock will make people late for work. 
But not me, I have my watch with me. 
 
People these days don’t even know how to write the time anymore. 
No more brain cells, no more. 
 
I watched other people in front of me watching the giant clock. 
They stood in front of it, gazing up, looking at the numbers. 
Idiots, I thought. 
 
Do they know how to read the time? 
These people are foolish and dumb. 
We’re going nowhere but down. 
 
With a sigh, I passed by the fools. 
And one of the fools declared, 
‘We’ve got seven years and one hundred and one days.’ 
What a disgrace. 
Once more, the fool declared, 
‘We’ve got seven years and one hundred and one days.’ 
I pointed my watch at the fool, but the fool said he knew the time. 
The fool said, 
‘We’ve got seven years and one hundred and one days left to live.’ 

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Kahlo  

She was painting one of her self-portraits again when I went to her room. 

Completely alone, her mirror hanging from her ceiling. 
She was looking up and then down, up and then down again. 
I sat next to her and watched her paint. 
I watched her create her next masterpiece. 
She couldn’t move, but she could only paint in bed. 
She painted to pass the time. 
And I watched her paint as she passed my time. 
She couldn’t move, but I could. 
She could paint, but I couldn’t. 
I watched her paint, and she watched her painting. 
I looked at her, but she looked at her painting. 
Then she finished painting and stayed in her bed. 
Her bed was her office. 
She couldn’t leave her office, but I could. 
She couldn’t hang her painting, so I hung it for her. 
She then fell asleep in her office. 
But I went home to sleep in my bed. 
The next day I came back to her office, and she was painting again. 

Another self-portrait. 
Another masterpiece to be hanged. 
But everything else was the same. 
She painted and I watched. 
I walked and she didn’t. 

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I Saw Money Falling from the Sky 

I saw money falling from the sky. 
Light, like a feather, dancing with the weather. 
I saw them fall on the roofs, on the ground, on the street. 
I saw them fall, one after the other, making the view complete. 
 
What a scene, I thought I have never seen. 
This can only happen in my dream. 
Am I dreaming right now, or is this from a scene? 
But then I pinch myself and scream like a teen. 
 
I see money fall from the sky. 
But there is no one around to get the supply. 
Not an eye, not a sigh. 
It seems that no one needs the most high. 
 
They fall with elegance and with a gentle touch. 
They lie on the ground and remain untouched. 
Not a soul around, not a roar, 
Yet I still see money fall, more and more. 
 
Then I rub my eyes, and the money is gone. 
I see leaves instead and the break of dawn. 
I see leaves fall from the trees to the floor. 
Thank Lord; humanity is restored. 

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Meri is a senior Communications major with a minor in Creative Writing. Contact her at mhovsepyan@johncabot.edu.