Wrapping a dead fish in newspaper

Memorizing the days of the week in Italian

Forgetting your name
when your body opens for him, but he
turns away. 

///

Waves begin in the fingertips
Something like wave after wave
breaking on a narrow shore.
Something like a gathering.
This is how a woman knows.  

I am a planet, after all, with its
own moon, gathering sands,
wondering when I discovered
that I want nothing from him.

It’s too loud here in the mornings.

I want to make a cup of coffee.

I want to have a piece of cake.

Ann Pedone is the author The Medea Notebooks (forthcoming, Etruscan Books), and of the chapbooks The Bird Happened (Leave Books), perhaps there is a sky we don’t know: a re-imagining of sappho. (Cup and Dagger Press), DREAM/WORK, and Everywhere You Put Your Mouth (Halas Press.) Her work has recently appeared in Narrative Magazine, Abralemin, Menacing Hedge, Contemporary Verse 2, The Phare, West Trade Review, The Open Page Literary Journal, SAND, and The Shore.