I have observed, the theorist I am
You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
The storm passes without snow. The car waits loyally in the back lot.
My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”
Live the rest of your life from one worst case to another.
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
Ma wrings a wet world of colors
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
my father holds his favorite drink
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray
The collective failure of ethical standards
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
Empty vessels make the most sound, I think, as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.