Ava C. Cipri


rooms remain unattended

will we reenter their chambers, even now,
supporting our mutual contract that "the space"
best be utilized by an/other/s in our absence

I am curious, to know the occupant/s

will the drapes be drawn, still
with an inch of light to spare
before you wake

who was it       you or I
who spoke
splintering us into our separate mornings

for certain, I know this; every act I take considers you as agent "x"

I multiple you against
everything I do.

factor you into the equation of my identity
example:    you=x

sleep (none, fisted hands)

morning cigarette (first thought)

writing (I am too comfortable now, I forget, forgot my hate)

lunch hour (the man, serving samosas w/tamarind, always asks)

music (running, running, running . . . & you know the rest)

yoga (stretching with you, me downward-facing-seal; you beneath me)

The Irish Design Center (the fisherman's cable-strewn sweater I touched, your flower namesake; Heath)

Ava C. Cipri has an MFA from Syracuse University, where she served on the staff of Salt Hill. Currently, She teaches at Duquesne University and facilitates writing workshops at the Pennsylvania Organization for Women in Early Recovery (Power). Recent published and forthcoming work appears in 2River, New Zoo Poetry Review, WHR, and Whiskey Island Magazine, among others.

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