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Poetry
by Lisa Veyssiere
The
Diviner
Perfect twins, they were blessed also with
the gift of
perfect sight to see
the hairline cracks in their lives. And I, the hardship
of the record keeper.
One suffered from
a not uncommon problem in those times,
when she opened her mouth, her husband heard
the great buzzing of small insects. With marital therapy and
naphthalene,
they lasted nearly four years.
The other,
I hear these days she
walks into a room like someone
for whom it turned out all right
after all.
Which my sources dispute.
And don't even get me started about that time
in the cellar of the Skiddo
between the boxes of Teachers and MGD.
I produce wholesale, vaccines of creosote and juniper and wild
rose
bonemeal nourished
suspended in ethyl acetate
to ward off the evil eye of men, parasitic insects. Old woman
they say, we have each other.
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More
Abridged Tales of Love and Devotion
And then some kind of complicated caterwauling
woke us from uncertain sleep
caused the watchman to walk four flights of stairs
to suite thirty-three. Which thank God
isn't my age, you said
to hurt me and I said
yet, I mean.
But then again, I wouldn't
aspire to the alternatives
Finally heavy footfalls leaving the wing,
and
we wait in hard won silence
cheap armistice of the voyeur
for the calls calling to memory
somewhere through the network of air shafts and cellars and
air conditioning apparatus
to our fallow room, and
you shut your eyes. I know this, I'm listening too.
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Lisa Veyssiere's short fiction
and poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Salt River
Review, Mississippi Crow, The Scrambler, and Word Riot. She is
the fiction editor for the Tonopah Review, an online literary
journal.
Send a message by using the Word
Catalyst feedback form.
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