<< LRL 7
3 Poems
by Theresa Sotto

like many
she was born
in a hospital
among many

like some
of many
she was born
in philadelphia
among some
in a hospital

with some
she sat
at a desk
in classes
like many
unlike some
who couldn't go
who don't sit
at desks or
in buildings

with many
she shook hands
at the podium
with the some

and some could not
attend the ceremony
could never attend
with not very much
of anything
to give to some
or themselves
or anyone

though some
of some
made babies
she did not
though she could
and some cannot
or do not
even if they have
the most proper
kind of house

or even if they
held a ceremony
like many
in a chapel
though some
choose vegas
some choose
many ceremonies

and some can't
among these
specific choices
and she is among many
who haven't chosen
at least not yet
since there are many
more choices
she can now make

though only some
are available only
some of the some
she'd prefer to do
or perhaps one
which is to say
nothing saving
of what
is preferred

which some find
generally preferable
unlike many who would
much rather
do many things
particularly those things
that many
are doing

the body with its two
ideally there things
moves up rests
down bunches up
crunches down
folds frivolously
against edges
slumps down
when the body is bruised
is not necessarily broken
is not necessarily bruised
on the body
is not necessarily broken
in the body
is broken and bruised
somewhere else
when the body is bruised
the lover
the clerk
the body
the dinner guests
they all know
with this body
this thing
can be done
with that body
that thing
with one hand
look mom one hand
see the sinewy body move
did you see how
does the body do that
its tiny parts suspicious
mr. body: is the rope
in the study
or the billiards room?
the body pouring
or leaking or measuring
the body a container the
body a sieve
is very
and the body
is an I
or a number
fret around
(sorry body)
now tango
(pleasure of
when the body gets you
there where you
want your body to be
you are gladly
always moving there
I tell some
body how I love
how close
this body of
water where I
visit I say
in the body
of an email
I say how
we'll go
the domineering nature
of the body
it holds you there
and is held
the body born into
the body will look
like that and act
like this perhaps
one day
I'd like to move
closer like that
but can't
in these bodies
we follow there
where others are
some of the bodies
the way they go
stuttering, or home for the holidays

meanwhile the cargo is in a process

however mundane

we carry

sometimes my suitcase is this considerable

precious dovecote

what peeks, cooing

we measure the distance from shelf to shelf

through board game stacks to get better at

how many taboos

before the buzzing takes you out

the playing field suddenly a jolt

of laughing

over the holidays

the times were bright

and there were leftovers

meanwhile what doesn't fit in

isn't made room for

what product can be wrangled from

the production of sitting

craft my legs into an adverb so that

my motions can be adjusted

according to the way people go

along the beach no swimming

when storm drain water is the barrier between

reservation and recklessness

a croquet idea and the whacking away

the wickets all lined up

in the terminal little volumes can alter

a sure bet I shouldn't

the knots between your shoulders are a mightier draw

I knead them how stupidly

and check the monitor again

tin in my inbox

meanwhile the troops are moving as

before, slipping through the pipelines

this is the way the world

chases its own

tail following its own

turd, the turf matted down

but no tourniquet in the cabinet

or elsewhere

if I believed in the three rule

some third would always be lurking

to chisel out a triplet from the mish-mash

tidy pillars to run

around and the tooth fairy

cramming her fingers under the sheets

meanwhile impressions are being made all over

someone is blogging about theirs

these days piece molds come in too many pieces

this hour this evening this method of parsing out tasks

click through to a template, come plug and

away, a distance to type across

when I say I'm here the implication being

there are many who aren't

I'll tell you so over holiday beets now that I know

there is such a thing as seasonal

with all the tomatoes stacked in a neat pyramid

who knew it isn't the right time

normally reproduction waylays more intricate patterns

but the downpour renders vision inconsequential

when rain permits the backyard its distinct shapes

a leaf, a wooden table, the hollow grill

every surface made visible by its timbre


Theresa Sotto is a writer and educator who lives in Los Angeles. She is the author of the chapbook hinge (Flying Guillotine Press, 2012). Her poems have appeared in Spittoon, La Petite Zine, VOLT, Word For/Word, and others. When not writing poems, she develops strategies for engaging people with art.

<< LRL 7