It Was Surreal Without You What do you love you asked not who but what. I thought and having to think hinted at the chasm between waking and dreaming, spoke of grimy windows, cracked linoleum. Dirt. In the museum today, I drift past a painting you loved a dreamscape. Like Chagall, you are dead, but alive you’d float your fantasies over bowls of roses, behold slivers of silver peaking through leaves, clouds pillowing a hovering nude, queen of the blue skyline, angel of cyan, goddess to her lover and and and one lone oarsman below. But no, the perspective is off. It is what, not who you love, and perspective is no matter. You are dead. Left what you loved, named: a domain, claimed, staked with words, tethered to this fragile vessel: a boat, a bowl, roses. Kelly Ann Ellis This poem was first published in Friendswood Library's Ekphrastic Poetry Festival Anthology 2023. Kelly Ann Ellis holds an MA in English Literature from the University of Houston, where she also taught for over a decade. A member of the critique group Poets in the Loop, she is the co-founder of hotpoet, Inc. and the managing editor of Equinox. Her poetry, which has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, was featured in the REELpoetry festival for three years consecutive years and showcased in the Houston Fringe Festival in 2019. She was twice nominated for a Pushcart prize in 2020, and her poetry collection, The Hungry Ghost Diner, was published by Lamar University Literary Press in 2023.
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November 2024
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