lesson



What can I possibly teach you? Nothing
cut-dried
ever happens to me,
or I’ve an exquisite intricate painting for a mind,
the opposite of a grisaille,
though Guernica’s one, so the comparison
doesn’t hold… But you get the picture: I’m feminine.
& he, I thought, a gentleman, which just means he played squash & could define “liminal,”
but still, I thought—
or, rather, no—think I didn’t, really, at all—
He had a British accent! He was so tall!
…………………………………………

                          *

Starched winter. Morning sun. My body lugs me
from point a to point b, like a ferry / on a / body of / water.


________________________________________

Emma Winsor Wood is a 2015 Teaching-Writing Fellow at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in DIAGRAM, The Journal, Salamander, The Seattle Review, Prelude, and elsewhere. She grew up in New York City.