over centuries
"Reveal yourself to science"
they said and I was
awl-headed and dripping
my sand
Agonizing over something
I've said yes to
is evidence
of the existence
of insidious fingers in me, insidious
as purchases
from big box stores
or the dawn of no one
will ever offer me
a sabbatical
What you hear now
is the big sound
of my own weeping
over the concept
of 'deserve'
Let's point to facts
I like moths
I cower in the face
of spontaneity
Radical candor
thrills me but
I need time
to digest—listen:
quiet singing
from the horse.
Still, like a tree
with supernatural ambitions
I am in my skin of time
Look now:
How necessary it hurts
from every wound, green
Ellen Welcker is the author of Ram Hands (Scablands Books, 2016), The Botanical Garden (Astrophil Press, 2010) and several chapbooks, including The Pink Tablet (Fact-Simile Editions, 2018). She lives in Spokane.
