POETRY
“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts
Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.
If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray
Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped