Ezra Harker Shaw, Joanna
Irregular Verbs and Other Forms of Uncertainty
Nadine Ellsworth-Moran
Every week, I meet with Martina,
who teaches me Italian. I can only speak
in the present tense: I am, I have, I desire–
She says, raccontami della tua vita.
I stumble over verbs, try to form
my history without a past, without
possessives or imperatives. I tell her
a narrative that exists only now, but I must
go back and begin with you. Begin
when my slender heel catches
in an iron grate, cans and oranges roll
from my grocery bag. You help me up,
tell me to buy sensible shoes. I buy
flat black leather boots; the rest of me
is ill at ease with sensibility.
You drive all day in a snowstorm
on the fourteenth day of February–
We have breakfast in bed
on the fifteenth–marmalade scones
and strong coffee ribboned with cream.
Ho solo dolcezza sulla lingue.
Your eyes are silent as icons, eyes
that follow and search me. How
can I tell this story? I repeat myself
often. My translation seeks order,
but there are no doors, no hallways,
no words that lead any way
but back to now, this moment caught
between our lips. I open my lessons,
begin to practice. I am, I have, I desire–
Nadine Ellsworth-Moran
Every week, I meet with Martina,
who teaches me Italian. I can only speak
in the present tense: I am, I have, I desire–
She says, raccontami della tua vita.
I stumble over verbs, try to form
my history without a past, without
possessives or imperatives. I tell her
a narrative that exists only now, but I must
go back and begin with you. Begin
when my slender heel catches
in an iron grate, cans and oranges roll
from my grocery bag. You help me up,
tell me to buy sensible shoes. I buy
flat black leather boots; the rest of me
is ill at ease with sensibility.
You drive all day in a snowstorm
on the fourteenth day of February–
We have breakfast in bed
on the fifteenth–marmalade scones
and strong coffee ribboned with cream.
Ho solo dolcezza sulla lingue.
Your eyes are silent as icons, eyes
that follow and search me. How
can I tell this story? I repeat myself
often. My translation seeks order,
but there are no doors, no hallways,
no words that lead any way
but back to now, this moment caught
between our lips. I open my lessons,
begin to practice. I am, I have, I desire–