Four Poems by Sam Hendrian

 

Rogue Breeze 

 

Caught her loitering by a flower bush – 

A most unusual sight – 

Then realized she wasn’t loitering at all 

But rather immersed in a sensory celebration.  

 

I asked her to show me the slow-motion side of life  

Since I had made a habit of rushing  

For fear of what I’d feel  

If I dared stop.  

 

She humbly harassed my assumption  

That she wasn’t rushing too; 

It was less a matter of time  

And more a matter of how we perceive it.  

 

Alright, I could be sold  

On the idea I wasn’t young at all, 

Merely a rogue breeze  

Passing through then coming back again.  

 

So I paused while walking onward,  

Looked down while glancing up  

To savour the roadside bouquets  

She favoured with her wandering gaze.  

 

 

 

Unmade Love 

 

I’m pretty good at love  

Just not good at making it  

Since it’s already there  

Ready to share.  

 

Can go through the motions  

Enough to doubt the doubt  

That I don’t know the difference  

Between a bed sheet and a meet-and-greet.  

 

But as soon as we reach the part  

When I’m supposed to grow apart  

From the notion of the whole  

For the sake of the best halves, 

 

I stumble in the dark  

Because the lights are still turned on  

And I fail to dissociate,  

So determined to innovate.  

 

Except no one wants something new; 

Sing the standards, play the pop hits  

Unless there’s a damned good reason  

To introduce an untested melody.  

 

Therefore I stand to go, 

Accepting I’m no match  

For unspoken expectations  

Of how love should be made.  

 

 

 

Maybe Should Have Left It At Dinner 

 

Pleasantries and hesitancies  

Over a plate of enchiladas,  

A pair of sore-tooth voids  

Going in for their routine filling.  

 

Afterwards came the invitation  

No man can really refuse  

Despite old moral objections  

And the fear it’s a lead-in to disappear.  

 

I was a novice at pretending not to be a novice, 

Dwelling on the ice cream pint slightly too long  

Before inching close enough  

To build a bridge between our breaths.  

 

Kept things fairly PG 

As she fed me Indian songs and their meanings  

While exchanging questions of preference and history  

Neither was eager to answer.  

 

Then without warning, she drifted off  

Leaving me to sit up the rest of the night  

Lamenting my lack of technique  

And thinking maybe we should have left it at dinner.  

 

 

 

Too Little Time 

 

As a kid I got used to goodbyes  

Hidden within hellos, 

The passing greeting from a cousin  

We then didn’t see after that.  

 

Never protested their prevalence 

Nor lamented the lingering sorrow, 

Presuming that bookends  

Were what guaranteed meaning something to someone.  

 

It hasn’t become any harder, 

It hasn’t become any easier  

To bridge bosoms for an endless three seconds  

And say “See you when I see you.” 

 

There’s always an unspoken feeling 

That doesn’t make it to the microphone, 

Be it long-withheld gratitude  

Or a simple memory resurfaced.  

 

Walking away with a souvenir,  

A pair of shoes gifted from wanderer to wanderer  

So that we can look down and realize  

We still share the same road.

Sam Hendrian is a lifelong storyteller striving to foster empathy and compassion through art. Originally from the Chicago suburbs, he now resides in Los Angeles, where he primarily works as an independent filmmaker and has just completed his first feature film Terrificman, a deeply personal ode to the power of human kindness. You can find his poetry and film links on Instagram at @samhendrian143.