Drop by drop I mourn the sea.
Coat pulled shut tight. The street empties of meaning. Your heat answers me.
By Ella Bogdanova16 days ago in Poets
Hands in coat pockets. The world asks for everything. I give it less now.
A scarf at my throat. This town can have the rest. You stay with me still.
It's been a year since the wildfire: begat from a hungry orange lick, dancing on November deadgrass, eager to grow. .
By Ella Bogdanova30 days ago in Poets
A little boat drifting on the grey, grey sea, Still holds its course though land, it draws it near. My heart creaks on for what could never be.
By Ella Bogdanova2 months ago in Poets
Outside my window in Padova Is a courtyard of terracotta roofs Self-assured plants spreading out in ceramic pots Cats rubbing against clay walls
Her thoughts were on the promise of the afterlife, the one that comes from kicking a terminal disease; never anticipating the next few months and hardly guessing a basic principle underlying it all:
The air smells like wet bark and cozy roots and closing things (I shut my heart like a winter window to block the smell of snow)
Moon, my mama is across the ocean Moon, I am the one across the ocean Moon, my ribs opened up and now my heart, My heart is in the ocean too
By Ella Bogdanova3 months ago in Poets
I came back to the woods because of their Constance, the way they stay the same all the while things are endlessly Growing, decaying and changing shape.
Here is what I hunted when I thought I was hunting love: melting into your skin being eaten feeling safe and dry in your bones
every morning life asks me are you sure you can do this again? and every morning I answer maybe not.
