by Chloe Elliott | Nov 29, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Note To the Pathologist. Take a scalpel, cut along the white bone of breast fold back the flesh, there behind the ribs, you’ll see ribald laughter caged, gasping for breath. Between the red thread of capillaries you will discover a black patch...
by Chloe Elliott | Nov 28, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
What was it like in the War, Granda? I became desert, death, murderer, a kind of killing machine. I washed my clothes in oil. I bartered my knife for water. I used my gun. I saw friends die over an officer’s stupidity. I was made to polish boots while the winds...
by Chloe Elliott | Nov 27, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
A LONGER KISS (to John, 1963-2018) On a mound of ancient rubble opposite the Shish Gumbad, in New Delhi’s Lodhi Gardens, a sign announces in English “This Is Grave Not Allowed” and a brown dog howls. The dog struggles in circles to poke its muzzle through the...
by Chloe Elliott | Nov 26, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
big safe knives her greedy hands cook for me slicing limes into such thin wheels ginger honey sesame to steam in this english culture with the least amount of time to cook in all of europe as she eats i touch her hands and feel grease the salt of...
by Chloe Elliott | Nov 25, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
THE MOTHER TREE Go to the pine to learn of the pine ̶ Matsuo Bashō Spring empties us of snow, spits us winter-lean Fat gritted rhizomes, our roots upend feeble as sea foamed on rock fast with limpet full dulse. & we swing sparse growth...
by Chloe Elliott | Nov 24, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Hotel Blue (after John Ash) 1. Above each of the sea-facing windows of Hotel Blue, a canopy. At night the smell of fish and vinegar. It’s a good place to fall out of love, fall in love with someone else, a good place to tip out clutter from your bag or pockets....
