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Flower Cart

Lisa Fishman


The pool was covered by a sheath of leaves

There was Invisible again, wearing the sign

Off in the distance

was a way of placing the poplars

I said that I wanted to mean

You could stay
here as my vocabulary, o
you could

materialize among the notes

on grapes, a clustered emphasis

the hill makes

mouth to ear or a gesture

tensing its legs

Every one has a double.

Through the ridges in the stem.

Yet not fluted.

      Or the color of the bark

to be likened to a person’s eye, a rather

beautiful one’s eye because right here

the sun came in.

          (and so these oval shadows on the page)

(they move when I move the page)

I don’t have any daffodils.

          Is that okay?

Real Signs


                    C A R T

devour mart


             Come walk
                         wells in

         ON PROMISES

         Celery and pears
or primroses

The fire cracked from side to side—
do you remember this?

Wicker tree, hickory, my black pen—
do you remember that?

I had a nice time in the sun shine.
Doubling back.

In the Good Will we were corrected:
the egg cup was an eye cup.

The tin pail had a thin sail
Then it was a strange boat

Talking to angels made him cheerful
Kissing his ear made her nervous

And the canvas grew Japanese
(line turned to stroke)

The wife of my father came from there
but died before I was born

What would you own
          in the coin-throw
What would you keep


About the author

Lisa Fishman is the author of The Happiness Experiment (Ahsahta); the poems in this issue are from her fourth book, F L O W E R  C A R T, forthcoming on Ahsahta Press. She teaches at Columbia College in Chicago. ​

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