Poem: for safekeeping by Loisa Fenichell


for safekeeping



interest me, in me, lost woman amongst the garden cubes.

the fire that, finally, really burned, in real time — our home

in maine drowned under the saint george river. yes I

tore the body

that we wanted

plucked the weeds we wetted

(the bare chests)

when the bears crawled, at night, to our bed (burned),

we made it out alive because we were not yet sleeping.

it was alright because you — gosh — held my hand



to find that I am

direction West.

to see that I am taking you

with me

(in our scrupulous car)

in the canyon we sang out the melodies. what we missed. blankets.

dried throats. the hermits within us could live (these dead men

missed us, like the police with their bullets —

made it out



alive) fishing. ended up in alaska where it was cold because sin was weather because I

liked you. you held my hand. both of us afraid to say:

love was like how our dog was only thirsty. how we had not had water in three years.



I am constructing a world in which you forgive me like the tortoise: for when I spilled

wine on your sheets; did not take the subway to greet you

where the planes landed like grand combs of teeth. nights grew late so I

stroked your teeth. still: silence (I have always been bade — by you —

to speak away my silence!) where the only verb I know ought to have been.



to here: still unknown! that I am in a bathtub. that this new house will too one day

freeze over before hell can even come into consideration. consider this: I liked the river

sand the best, then the snow in alaska, now the dirt that we trail like roaches onto the carpet

each day it rains (everyday). we have yet to live in the city. still I imagine the lights

there to be like that which shines from the corpse of the first dog we ever owned.



here is to the dog days! clinks shared between our two glasses. it is not

that I enjoy the taste of wine, though with you —





Loisa Fenichell was born in a NYC taxi cab — this fact, she feels, has a bit of an (arguably somewhat subconscious) impact on her own writing, & too the way in which she views the world at large. She currently lives in the city in which she was birthed and finds that, as is the case with most of its inhabitants, she simultaneously adores and cannot stand it.


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