F L O W E R C A R T

Lisa Fishman

A sample poem from the book

Heft
and hue
to have unheld a scale—
silver dishes little mirrors on their chains—
they go that way, This
and hoist

It’s not like looking into a pool,
to let your intelligence run away with you

Come back quarter size, apricot moon

A changeling is a child who
appeared under cover
of the ordinary, in exchange

the morning came
                              I have such pretty handwriting
                              no one said but I myself thought it
                              to myself so I matted it
                              like the grasses or a canvas or some
                              uncombed hair. It became a mess
                              which was the research of where things go.

A child could figure it out
if there is such a thing as “out”
in the sense of being figured in

The thinking was like Origami,
everyone folded out of birds, into specific
kinds of birds
I call you

                              hickory
                              category
                              dot