ditch,

the poetry that matters

Lisa Fiorindi

Lisa Fiorindi grew up in Windsor, Ontario where she graduated with her MA in English and Creative Writing. She recently completed her PhD in Comparative Literature and Women and Gender Studies at the University of Toronto. Her most recent writing can be found in the anthology Re:Generations: Canadian Women Poets in Conversation (Black Moss 2005) and in the Pocket Canon Series (Misprints Press Toronto). She is a mother of two.

articulate emotions       
 
 
i)                          i am perfectly able
            to articulate my emotions
            you once said to me walking
            arms pressed close together
            on a people-filled street          
 
            capable perfectly able
            i am you said shaking
            my arm away that i
            had interlaced with yours
            brown suede soft warm against skin
 
          
            ē mo shŭns perfectly
 
           able you repeated insisted
            till I said ok even though
            i didn’t believe you
 
            shuns of emo and eye
            of am in the people-filled
            street we walked pressed
            till you shake and I say
            ok unbelieving
 
            claims of capability a
            bound in the interlace
            of arms unarticulated
            brown suede skin
 
            till insistence pressed
            close together me you
            filled repeating good-byes
            against the change     tumbling
            out of your pocket
 
 
ii)                        im  pa  tiēnce
            as articulated by Latin
            scholars deep in the bottom
            of Berkeley scrounging
            editions of Virgil for
            love
             
            never found patiēns i’m
            leading out where each
            constancy of exertion forbearing
            affliction of your silence and
            rejection refuses my lips
            in the ablative
 
            unable to imagine another
            definition of us in the third
            declension where concocted
            rules of gender are
            not     reliable
 
            sustaining insolence
            withholding your self –
            proclaimed ignorance
            that the root
            of my impatiēns
            is Passion
 
 
iii)                      this stance between
            the day of touching skins
            momentarily safe
            secure before you
            say i think we should
            check     the time
 
            fragile skulls cradled
            caressing gently held
            scalps where warmth
            in proportioned hands
            remained delicately
            balanced
 
            and your mouth rested
            quiet on my nipple giving
            into its speech
            listening close to each
            pause stop articulate
            lick and breath
 
            down down un   knowing
            un    believing you would
            never talk to me
            again the taste
                 of phallus          
 
 
 
 
 

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