Dorothea Lasky



inspiration is not a lie

The Great Dark One could be 115.
She likes that.
Two repeating numbers and then the sign of the man.
Two repeating numbers that look like legs
Walking into a galaxy
Of fine furniture and linens.

Still, the man I loved
Was either a dove or a fish.
And the face I loved was the sign of our beaches.

The starkness of a giddy curse.
And Venus and another foot too, and the stars were unfolding, and then falling.

And the stars fell and I went with them




The first lesson

Earth and earth make air.
Air and air make fire.

Water and fire make
Air, fire, and fire

Or fire, air, and fire.
Depending on how you look at it.

The house on the edge
Was painted in purple.

And there were shells in it
And lacy things.

“Stability is a ghost.” he had said to me.
We were naked.

But still silence is a globe too
Of unhaloed train light.

The light in the street
Is made of purple, heather, and finer things.

And the light is yellow.
And it takes my time to look at it.


Dorothea Lasky is currently in the MFA program at the University of Massachusetts--Amherst. She has work in Both and Baffling Combustions. She has work forthcoming in Blue Mesa Review and Castagraf.

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