Our hotel bed has tenses in it.
It creaks when we turn over,
When you shake your nightmare into me,
When I think about the morning or your body.
Through wooden shutters
Greek roosters begin their telegraph
Among the screech of donkeys,
Between farther waves.
We have come here newly married, knowing nothing.
Having shared a bed for years, we are unsure
What era to call this. We do not sleep.
The real name for this place is Ydrousa,
Which means that water was found on the island,
Much of it. A mouth
Fertile with bewilderment.
Water cupped in water,
A hand holding a diamond
Above a field of salt.
Jay Deshpande reads “Geographies”
Jay Deshpande is the author of Love the Stranger and The Umbrian Sonnets. The recipient of a Wallace Stegner Fellowship and the Scotti Merrill Memorial Award, he teaches in the MFA program at Columbia University.