By Lisa Fishman b. 1966 Lisa Fishman
and hue

to have unheld a scale—

silver dishes little mirrors on their chains—

they go that way, This

         and hoist

It’s not like looking into a pool,
to let your intelligence run away with you

Come back quarter size, apricot moon

A changeling is a child who
appeared under cover
of the ordinary, in exchange

The morning came
                  I have such pretty handwriting
                  no one said but I myself thought it
                  to myself so I matted it
                  like the grasses or a canvas or some
                  uncombed hair. It became a mess
                  which was the research of where things go.

A child could figure it out

if there is such a thing as “out”

in the sense of being figured

the thinking was like Origami,
everyone folded out of birds, into specific

kinds of birds
         I call you      



Lisa Fishman, “Heft” from 1913: A Journal of Forms [issue #2]. Copyright © 2007 by Lisa Fishman.

Source: 1913: A Journal of Forms (Ahsahta Press, 2007)

Discover this poem’s context and related poetry, articles, and media.

Poet Lisa Fishman b. 1966

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Subjects Relationships

Poetic Terms Free Verse


Lisa Fishman grew up in Pontiac, Michigan. She earned a BA at Michigan State University, where she studied with Diane Wakoski; an MFA at Western Michigan University, where she studied with William Olsen; and a PhD in literature at the University of Utah, with a dissertation on Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poetics.
Influenced by the British Romantic poets and the pastoral tradition, Fishman composes haunting poems that explore the . . .

Continue reading this biography

Poems by Lisa Fishman

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Relationships

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Poetic Terms Free Verse

Report a problem with this poem

Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

This poem has learning resources.

This poem is good for children.

This poem has related video.

This poem has related audio.