Three Poems by Lindsay D'Andrea
[terroir]
what is
the name for sudden
exhaustion enough ignored
the names for stone hiding in wine
flint mineral tell me what grows together
goes together fingers attempt
not to dream of your hair the reasons
a body fights itself when illness has little
to do with it a view
of telephone wire preserved in memory
jogged contour speed draws lines
going someplace or
the name for frequency
of deaths every cell unbecoming
myself no longer mine the ease
with which i contain what's left
in you like the impossibility
of oceans places that smell most like
salt what is the name of the sorrow
that signals how far we travel noticing nothing
the taste of purple flowers soapy thought
refusing to get clean that stupid
hat you wear i don't care
about names precision what's-it-called
after all my math forever
unreliable i'll keep record of these
grievances never speak them
aloud when you ask
what’s on my tongue where it comes from
the very vine the anguish
grassy slopes clay type of sheep
grazing among the answers
landscapes unseen nothing i'll claim
to search for yes nothing
you'll ever find
terroir [tar/war]
the best grape grows
in cooler climates pretending
sweetness what use is memory
faced with layer after layer
of silt these are facts acidity
feels like acidity can be nothing
else did bacchus know
we would buckle down study page
s work threaded stories to blank
labels beat words to vine
dancefloors ignored by scared men why chase vintage
why year after year some cleaner
than others stern nose in glass
answers stark as sentences
let’s call it a hobby a game
chess piece crossing old territory
inspecting ground blight varietal
a chill barely detectable definitive
excellence learn insult is arable
agree to disagree one day it must pay off
terroir [terror]
i’ve inherited a list of should should-nots guess
the difference between two chalk and limestone
red fruit or dark forget the tongue as map dumb muscle
distracted whole histories repressed overqualified
chemical grape nothing so lovely smells of petrol
guess the difference one wine pretends oak toasted woodchips
unearned bark no rock or stream or story barreled
insincerity it’s only a guess if you don’t know so know
soften your voice for strangers turn servant in back laughing
understand the orchid in its acid-home petaled trap to trick the bee
shake off places i come from carry new awe against my will
heart squeezed to purple turnip build a catalogue of notes every word
stands in for blood i refuse to admit lines crossed common ground
overlapping grey refusal alone gives the ending away
...
Lindsay D'Andrea is a graduate of Iowa State University’s MFA program for creative writing and environment. Her poetry and fiction has been published in Flyway, The Greensboro Review, Fiddleblack, and InDigest Magazine, among others. She currently lives in the Boston area.
