Lisa Fishman
New Poems From the USA

I waited for you in the gloaming
on the pine path to the lake

I offered you an onion bath
to cure your wedded wife

The locust appears harmless
in a round room, under your dress

The Dancer Orchid resembles a boy with yellow skirt
flared out as if a window

could be made of straw, Tess cuts the grass
The noted weed

you see don’t worry when you close your eyes
It’s only a cabbage moth, magnified many times