LYN LIFSHIN
PoetryRepairShop v04.08: 093
THE MAD GIRL POEMS
085 086 087 088 089 090 091 092 093 094 095 096
THE MAD GIRL THINKS OF DONATING ORGANS THE MAD GIRL DOESN'T WRITE FOR A WEEK
THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE ROOM UNDERGROUND THE MAD GIRL SEES HOW WOMEN STAY WITH LOVERS WHO BEAT THEM
THE MAD GIRL THINKS OF DONATING ORGANS

of giving her heart
finally to someone
who really wants it


 THE MAD GIRL FEELS LIKE
the wicker baskets she lugged home on sale, a bit more ragged than what she'd seen but more natural, weathered, places that were bent, splitting a little but still braiding a wreath of her self into what almost held it breaking off if you pick it up, losing a little of herself each time you fill her.
THE MAD GIRL DOESN'T WRITE
FOR A WEEK

bumping around
on buses and driving
thru fog to pull 
lies and dreams
from the 7th graders in
a room blooming
mold, then dancing
six hours until she
collapses. Black
notebooks on the
bed, the only
black on them,
ants she smears 
in dreams of
other darkness
that outlines, in 
the light, what 
she hasn't, as if
the unwritten
poems were her
life
THE MAD GIRL THINKS OF DONATING ORGANS THE MAD GIRL DOESN'T WRITE FOR A WEEK
THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE ROOM UNDERGROUND THE MAD GIRL SEES HOW WOMEN STAY WITH LOVERS WHO BEAT THEM
LYN LIFSHIN
PoetryRepairShop v04.08: 093
THE MAD GIRL POEMS
085 086 087 088 089 090 091 092 093 094 095 096
093Q1TITLE 093Q2TITLE
THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE ROOM UNDERGROUND THE MAD GIRL SEES HOW WOMEN STAY WITH LOVERS WHO BEAT THEM
THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS
THE ROOM UNDERGROUND

she first began
jotting words on
yellow paper,
black tulips un-
folding. She
pressed her head
against glass in
the damp place
facing trees,
felt part of her
self turn Daphne
tho by morning
she'd be clay for
the poet who
hoarded wine
and ate the 
letters of Katherine
Mansfield in blood
leaves as he dreamt
of eggs Benedict
and the cove
in her legs
THE MAD GIRL SEES
HOW WOMEN STAY
WITH LOVERS WHO BEAT THEM

knows, after those
phone calls from her
mother on the hour
how those women
can be flattened, low.
An hour of Quiet is 
a velvet glove, roses.
All the stars they 
saw as what was out
side them blurred
with what was in
side, exploding 

093Q1TITLE 093Q2TITLE
THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE ROOM UNDERGROUND THE MAD GIRL SEES HOW WOMEN STAY WITH LOVERS WHO BEAT THEM
LYN LIFSHIN
PoetryRepairShop v04.08: 093
THE MAD GIRL POEMS
085 086 087 088 089 090 091 092 093 094 095 096