Tag Archives: Carol Ellis

CPR Best of Volume 16 Now Available

CPR Volume 16 Front CoverAfter more than a week of stuffing envelopes, the hard-copy “Best of Volume 16” Cider Press Review is on its way to contributors, subscribers, and former Book Award contest entrants.

The “Best of” issue features poems by Rebecca Baggett, Carol Berg, Jennifer Jackson Berry, Maggie Blake, Ace Boggess, John Bradley, Christine Butterworth-McDermott, Sharon Chmielarz, Lisa J. Cihlar, Joan Colby, Michael Collins, Gemma Cooper-Novack, Jimmie Cumbie, Carol V. Davis, Paul Dickey, Iris Jamahl Dunkle, Carol Ellis, Sarah Estes, David Eye, Evelyn Clark Farbman, Shawn Fawson, Janice Greenwood, David Hathwell, Gary Hawkins, Sara Henning, Brian Patrick Heston, Louisa Howerow, Ann Hudson, Amie Keddy, Heather Lang, Susanna Lang, Mercedes Lawry, Bernadette McBride, Amy Meckler, Colleen Michaels, Nancy Carol Moody, Carolyn Moore, Mary Moore, Susannah Nevison, Amy Newday, Autumn Newman, Sharon Olson, Mary Elizabeth Parker, Lynn Pedersen, Kevin Phan, Katherine Rauk, Geri Rosenzweig, Michael G. Smith, Heather Sommer, Sarah Sousa, Joannie Stangeland, Kelly Terwilliger, Lisken Van Pelt Dus, Ryan Vine, Donna Vorreyer, Chelsea Wagenaar, Mark Wagenaar, Marq Wilson, Laura Madeline Wiseman, Anne Harding Woodworth, Matthew Zingg. Book reviews by Ken Hada and Gary Leising.

To order your own or extra copies, please visit the CPR Bookstore.

First Line
by Carol Ellis

I forgot the first line – it was strong and taut – strung between two trees – covered in clothespins and, at times, birds – a bad idea perhaps to hang a line near birds – envision an empty white shirt with the wind shaping it with wind’s breath – making sense of clothes – the way they look like a body – the way a body suddenly needs new clothes – suddenly because the world turns happy or because only a white shirt will do on the plane flying to her loss and I cannot wear black all the time these days and nights, in fact I have three closets and one is filled with my black clothes – the crying closet – dark when the door opens – clothes difficult to tell apart, but ready for the inevitable news of the end of a story – all the other times life almost ended, but for the facts that the truck did not hit hard enough or she was next but the soldiers heard the lunch bell and were hungry enough to leave her standing against the wall or suddenly the medication takes while the leaves and fever turn – the tree bends but stands – old at the corner of the yard that this autumn has orange berries among the branches empty all summer of leaves – the clothesline tugging at it – wanting nothing of life, but to hold clothes or birds would give it reason just as well – but I have lost the line that last night began the poem – the clothes lie on the ground where I have thrown them – I miss her miss her and feel again that I lean against loneliness and wear an empty shirt – as someone readies to leave and I open the closet door to see the clothes and nothing else – nothing – the everything of nothing come again for birds and their inevitable flight.
 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 1.

Carol Ellis

Carol Ellis was born in Detroit, Michigan, and currently lives in Portland, Oregon. She’s been around the academic block with her Ph.D. in English from the University of Iowa. Her poetry chapbook, “I Want A Job,” has been published by Finishing Line Press.

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Visit Carol Ellis’s contributors page.

Garden Snails and Bird
by Carol Ellis

Two early morning snails curl together breathing the end. Their escape from wet grass become impossible they drown around their shells touch with the ground of their voices flooded saying hold me this one last time we leave together not alone our shells beautiful ready to be emptied of who we were come closer while we say that we felt each leaf each rose in brief color scent have you gone already tucked into your shell your face disappearing the memory of your heart beating me into the ground as you rise above in the beak of a bird.

The bird is the word between us. Fly, do not wait to walk make the rhythm of wings beat you into flight that is sight seeing itself see look over there look here answer the best question by asking even a better question no answers these complicated dances in the beak of a bird no one saw the bird but you flew where I would not see the implications.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 2.

Carol Ellis

Carol Ellis was born in Detroit, Michigan, and currently lives in Portland, Oregon. She’s been around the academic block with her Ph.D. in English from the University of Iowa. Her poetry chapbook, “I Want A Job,” has been published by Finishing Line Press.

See all items about Carol Ellis

Visit Carol Ellis’s contributors page.