1.27

if           I         insisted on
    standing with my back to the
                                                    tiger

if           I    did not                    know yet
                 what                      trouble was

if                          this was the beginning
             I                       willed into being

if                 memory                  must be
                    washed   in            sunlight

if           I         got into the car
                                   with          strangers

if           I   used to      laugh
             at my                            inexperience

if           I         crept    in the
                        cleft
             he        left      by              mistake

then
           was there something wrong with
                                                         me
do         I have to        explain

at the time
                             it all seemed inevitable
as expected
                         growing up
as a                   girl
 
 

2.2

traps
             symptomatic
      of
               inner         life
               under        glass

the present                simulating the past

                memory               restrained
and                                      retouched

                expensive            relics
eased of                                blood
                   by the
                                            hunched
heavy         limbs of
                          time             a tick
in the shape of                       a man

I             often catch             love
           metamorphosed
into                                 compromise
                        when
I                                        analyze
            a moment
                                    from the outside
I             revise the
                                            swoon
I             was                          only
                        bending
                                            forward
into the                                warmth
               to prove to myself
at last
                    I was    loved

 
 

Eva Della Lana is a poet and diarist from Ohio whose recent work has appeared in DIALOGIST, Lunch Ticket, and The Florida Review. Her erasure project is in conversation with her teenage chapbook, Places She’s Been (Pudding House), which received a Pushcart Prize nomination in 2006. She currently resides in Los Angeles, where she works in a library.