Drop by drop I mourn the sea.
It's been a year since the wildfire: begat from a hungry orange lick, dancing on November deadgrass, eager to grow. .
By Ella Bogdanova2 months 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.
Outside my window in Padova Is a courtyard of terracotta roofs Self-assured plants spreading out in ceramic pots Cats rubbing against clay walls
By Ella Bogdanova3 months ago in Poets
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
every morning life asks me are you sure you can do this again? and every morning I answer maybe not.
one day I’ll stop writing about you. maybe that will be love too.
Footprints in the snow lead up to my windowpane— none leading away.
By Ella Bogdanova4 months ago in Poets
I spent 30 years Afraid of remembering my childhood Of cloaking myself in its warmth Simply because I wasn't allowed to be that person
I see you: those of you hunched by the weight of 1000 generations, ancestors squabbling atop of your small shoulder blades.
How lovely, she thought, To keep what was given to you.
Every time I stay in Venice I get tragically lost. I even stay in the same 500-year-old apartment Unafraid to rise at night,
