"ellery" poems
So many days before
the warm-wind is back,
and I am looking for angels
beneath the dirt of my lawn,
where I sleep and dance and pray
in June;
I open my mouth and scream
into the ground,
so only the bugs and dead things know
what I am afraid of:
that tomorrow I will be older
and still know nothing.
-Ellery Rose
Jan 20, 2025
Jan 20, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
The sky is bone-white
and guilty-faced,
and some horrible cry is preparing itself
between my two lips–
I have become lamb from sheep,
regressed again;
I cannot stop screaming,
I cannot graze the land
without knowing that I am becoming
someone I have already been.
The things that make me happy,
that used to,
all exist in some other place:
where I came from,
where I’ll never be again,
where the creek water is always warm
and the lamb-scream
is so deep inside of me
I cannot reach it with my fist.
- Ellery Rose
Jan 20, 2025
Jan 20, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC