An open letter to Michael T. Slager
In memory of Walter L. Scott
It was the standing there that fucked me up
your body upright, right & erect—how many
ways can you let someone die? Beneath you,
your very stand/stance your whole vertical shit
stiff & still, shifted eyes—but body cocked up
up turned—closer to sky, to wings & flit fuck
you man & the way your spine stood still, firm
all those vertebrae lined up, a house beneath
your skin where you're at home, confident.
Shelter
because staying dry is sometimes remedy
all those metal spokes jutting about
plastic handle hold on tight canopy
awning from sky awning from down
pour because there was no rain
but you held onto that smallest roof
in any case coat buttoned styled
half dangling on your open mouthed
half smile sometimes
just the thought of protection is enough.
Ekphrastic poem from: Young girl with umbrella on Centre Street Hill District, Pittsburgh 1951, Richard Saunders
The Reception
Gather arms wrapped around waists, backs
& tilted chins, square jaws, pantyhose, patterned
clothes held close. Celebrate congregate cocktails
wedding bells. Trees tell, gather tales, tell them tall
take ‘em home.
*Ekphrastic Poem based on painting by Johnathan Green, 1988, oil on masonite
Express to Work
Because your body smells of sweat, sawdust,
9-5 & lemon rind. Smells of coffee grinds & time.
How polite your skin is against mine. NY Times
& this. Daily grind. Grind. Crime in times. News
& crime. Grind & time. Time & grind. Warnings
never end & it’s cold—keep a coat on & it’s bustle
graffiti, train track trance—all of us a spell.
Ekphrastic poem sample based on painting by Maxwell Taylor
Last bus stop five stops before yours,
so find the corner of the stop, stoop be-
neath. Crouch low, don't pull rank.
You've got none. You're not grown
Up, not now/yet.
High Proof
You say moonshine, illegal, the boot’s only leg—low down
un-authorized, un-hinged & loose. You say moon, shined
hell broke & break (ed) loose. Rowdy bawdy. Midnight rise,
moon & still distilled. Likker & licensed, licensed
to rise, spirit to shine, burn the oak & white lightning fine.
You say un-aged & heirloom, punctuate & proof, you call
it hooch, honey mountain dew, sweet smuggled swig.
Soaked Mourning
That this spring has been
Hard is not a fucking joke
Misted rain, missed trains
Matched caps to rain jackets
City spun w/ un-ripened
Buds shunted to trees, timid
Months of waiting, days dying
When I read you—news you un-
Ravel the gore & insides of me
Us, bussed to home & families, jobs
& each hustled day Pick up any
Paper or feed See the mouths
Of the mothers & their empty arms
See the hollows of their children
The way they/we wait for some reck-
Oning Some way to navigate how
Bullets bury in skin, the way hate
Is a plume, feathers & flaunt all
Choked & ravaging, blistered, burn-
Ishing & blooming a hot wreckage.
1959
But she's a bad girl
Because she wants to be free
She wants to be free
& Transatlantic telephone cables continue & earth orbiting
satellites are launched to measure shapes of clouds, cause
& rotation. Locus pinpointed. Kind of Blue recorded. Slim
progression & harmony, honey score & flit, fleet, modality—
sets & scales. Able & Baker barrel through space weightless
wonder rhesus & squirrel aboard Jupiter AM-18 back towards
the deep end of all the 50’s—collision & pomp. Pompadours
& still cigarettes.
& Barbie is born.
She wasn't a bad girl, girl at first
So good at the start
But now, now we must part
Oh yes, she's bad girl
*Lyrics from Bad Girl - Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
American Arabic, Irish, Italian Abecedarian w/ Blue(d)grass & Bourbon(d) Influences
Alphabetize existence: adage, acreage, age: under, old, less (is more—or is it?)
behold bourbon barrel B-town baby (girl), believer in bats, bells & boom boxes
causing cold chills in chlorine contaminated city pools
dreaming days of dodging disasters
existing to elevate—elevation &
fetch, fast forward float.
Gargantuan(ly) gussied up, no guise, all gall gall, gall, all gumption & good
hell of a hellion—high water(ed), heathen(ed) hexer of helium & high(ed) hopes
inclusion in instrumental, illustrious illusions, inventions
justifying the jut & juke & jaw of juvenile—cause I was
Tell me all the things you’d miss
If you’re asleep—note—if you’re not awake,
wide eyes, you could miss—there is much.
The hefty rat, its rot, right eye, steady steel
& gray body upturned & turned in on itself,
the glue trap’s coffin & concrete grave
on Audubon’s quietest 8:20 am street. Just
face & tail taunting world. Avert her eyes,
Hey folks-
Posting the full poem for April 10th. Headed to AWP in Minneapolis tomorrow for Hemisphere signings & panels & readings. Check the calendar for events & times. Would love to see you if you're in town.
Thanks all,
Ellen
Beer Poem #3
For the hop heads & fermenters for the vintage
& the chug, for the grail & the bodega on 177th, aged
& ale, hail this elevated elixir—it’s elemental how
bad this bitter brew’s got me bent & bedazzled.
Beer Poem #2
Beer as brave bravado, beer as cocky seductress of smooth, drink me & you'll forever be. Beer w/ the crew, beer on the dance floor, all slosh & gait, beer w/ swagger, beer as bulked up & barreling. Beer as orbit, as orbiting, beer as balm and calm, beer to soothe, beer to elix—all hail, the great elixir.
Haikus to My Daughters
after Parneshia Jones
II
Learn to navigate
Train to bus to car to foot
Keep your directions
III
Don’t be scared to dance
When the circle opens wide
Prepare to shake it
IV
Learn to love hunger
Appetites are sexy cool
Feed yourself wholly
V
Bodies are seductive
Don’t take them seriously
Everything decays
Nearly a Decade Later (excerpt)
Or—we are thick into year ten
not albatross, not glut, not midlife
or crisis, just a quiet decade of collection,
each season, hundreds of photographs in the cloud.
Ten years later, we drink root beer, share
salted popcorn in the back of the cinema. Dark,
packed to watch Furious 7— a franchise we both
can get behind. How many multicultural international
franchises are out there we both ask. I mean—Vin? Dwayne?
Michelle & now Tony Jaa you exclaim, of Ong-Bak fame
Furious 7 Movie Review (excerpt)
God’s Eye can locate you anywhere. When you’ve
dodged death (But have you? Do we ever? Are we always
skirting disaster? The end? An emergency vehicle that never
arrives? Our own stopping hearts?) Always go to the beach.
Forever frolick in salt & air—your children squealing surround
sound. & drive off into distances that only cameras can capture.
To the woman throwing blessings left & right
she must be crazy, in my head—unhinged.
& it’s not like we needed them, or begged—hell
her hands into pigeons / flying big—birds, prey
& catastrophe—her fingers flit flirting, a fury
of funk & destruction—& bless you, girl & you
to my cut eyes, hands on my girl’s shoulder, school
run across 181st where papaya & guava are gutted
their meticulous insides splayed display—fleshy wound.
Prepping for the Northwestern University Press reading at 612 Brew in Minneapolis on Saturday, April 11th at AWP. Prepping all these beer love poems. Hope you enjoy this sample--and hope to see you there if you're in town. You will hear this poem in full & many more!
Beer Poem #1 (excerpt)
But shit—I love you. Can’t apologize. Love you so ice, ice cold my
palms sweat silk & smooth, love you pale wheat ale & malted—love
you lager-ed up, cream, amber & rye. Love you wild ale & stout—give it to
me. Love you spiced & smoked, porter-ed & imperial, love you double & brown.
Love you revelatory & w/ ulta high alcohol per volume. Love you cocky
& amble, love you bawdy & body, all complexish-ness & pomposity.
Beer, you ceremony & shrine—you shine shine. You ritualistic renegade
you boozy, carbonated elixir of all things. You intoxicator. You red-eye moon
shine & thick-bodied on my tongue. All you ever do
is gratify my thirst.
Tonight, I am hungry & posting the whole poem. It's about food--a true love of my life.
Hope you enjoy.
Bronx, my love
after Willie Perdomo
& for Grand Concourse Jamaican Bakery & Sindy’s
Sure,
it’s the sweet in the sugar
the rice in the bowl
the red in the beans
the hot in the sauce
the salt in the cod.
It’s the cabbage in the patty
the coco in the bread,
it’s the egg & the cheese
the butter in the roll
the pork in the taco,
the pepper in the hash
the yolk in the egg
the wheat in the bread
it’s the fry in the chicken
the mayo on the bun
it’s the pop in the soda
the quench in the hunger
the full in the belly
the sate in the gut
the wind in my smile
the tilt of my jaw
the taunt of my teeth
the sly of my lips
& the yes in my grin.
Hello all-
Happy National Poetry Month! It's such a full and exciting time & I feel ready for all things Spring & such. Hemisphere will officially launch on April 15th, but you can pre-order the book now!
In the meantime, I am trying to get new poems and new writing out in the world. I am planning to write 30 poems in 30 days & will post some snippets here for you to check them out.
I will also be posting about events & readings & hope to keep a poetic conversation going.
Poem #1 (sample)
Ways Barbie & My Daughters are Different
First, they don’t smile all the goddamn time, prim & on purpose
their pouts aren’t raspberry filling or apple crumbled, quaint
quixotic/exotic/erotic/elastic/syrup/bubbled gum
jammed & honeyed wined—their teeth aren’t solar eclipses
rows of picket fences where blond ponytails ride hides of horses
their own horse hair wailing in wind—my daughters' teeth know
how to slice things & rip/tear/shard to threads—not tamed
or braced to perfection. Their teeth are renegades, roosters’
cocked walks—their mouths know when to say no & hell
yes, not grin & smirk & bare it—the brunt & groan. Some
times smiles are dangerous, don’t tempt me.
That’s one.
Reading Knead from #Hemisphere. Photographed by DFlo in Brooklyn. Winter 2015.