Eileen G’Sell’s poetry has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as the American Poetry Journal, Boston Review, Sonora Review, and Harp & Altar. She received an MA from the University of Rochester in 2003 and an MFA from Washington University in St. Louis in 2006, where she currently teaches English and serves as assistant editor of publications at the Mildred Lane Kemper Art Museum.
Heart of slumbering, liquid trees. Bitten apple falling. There are millions of suns.
It is morning, cold. The neighbors stare at the neighbors.
I am happy because it is the only way to beat you, friend. I am happy also because
I am a happy little girl.
When a sawed-off shotgun is properly used on a softly dirty Monday,
where a mother and father intend to learn the numbers of a room,
how can anyone hazard a guess— a groom—a full grown body
breaking? There are things one shouldn’t covet, love.
These are men worth semi-crouching for. Some go alone, while others share
their invisible rooms with others. Do you hate the way the happy hate?
Can you tell me the street where you were born?
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