Three Poems By Trish Salah

 

 

 

Turning Looks (with apologies to R.M.R.)

 

            And you long                                                    almost

for what she had won

by looking                                                       

for what she did.          

                                                                        a gaping white wide

            Longing, too

knowing           always

it was hers        Perhaps

in an abundant                                                              world

grasp                                       

 

            Your turn

 drew gifts

            out of that                                                         almost                        

thinking in         of her

A look of one

            perhaps, one

            who                                                                     

                                                                                     

            If, with words                                                    won

for a mouth,

longish looks

where eyes should be,

            possessed,                                                  

            she watched

their eagerness.                                                            

                                                                                          almost

Watching the break                                                     drowned

them, there       against

promising looks

            never a stranger at

            his table

dying of looks. 

 

            The search after

                        her secret                                            

her misery secret, even

from her

she never felt                                                           winter stopped

he felt as per never.                                                      
 

 

 

 

to blank, your name

 

skerry sightless, analogize

a perfect day, do you copy? innocence

omniscience, putative twaddle

forbearing limewire, remixes or cancopy acts

the privatization of love, labour, faith vs. the versus

wherein the other answer is always where projective terror

lies analogic and Freudian for dildonics, telegraph copse like you used

to know last summer’s corpse or intuitive

shift, politely from a girl with the empire (waist) II

arousing skritti politti fagginess, simmering

a halter toss slam, trying to judge the Algerian revolution

go gleeful as a gasser from Madagascar

oh just stop it! did hagar get a bad rap? did al haig? el hajj?

strike three for ahistoricism, lack of cultural context—

or to slap you you you where the sun don’t

when you gave up your place in the water and the other cheek

was the idea a long wet expulsive list?

 
 

 

 

dystopic on 616

 

            i need to take a shower. i’m troubled by

increasingly distorted fanfictions, psychotic or melancholy,

with the loss of canon. i keep thinking there is a cure

for being awake that doesn’t involve fairies, pot or poutine.

            i need to go to school. i am involved in

a memory relapse; i am particular about insults

i am aware of the i and troubled by it, possible worlds’

inflection, inflecting an i that leans towards

smothering, then purges. to generalize then, gross

conformity haunts narrower days in an inconveniently belated

montreal.

 

 

 

 

 

Trish Salah writes poetry, fiction and criticism, and teaches at the Simone de Beauvoir Institute, Concordia
University and in Sociology at Bishop's University. She has new work in the current issues of Atlantis and
Canadian Theatre Review, and in the online journals Drunken Boat and EOAGH. Her first book of poetry,
Wanting in Arabic, was published by TSAR in 2002.

 

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