Poem: The Lonely Art Of Collecting Olives

Watch to be sated. The brain nests
a splintered thought that seeds
its own creation. A hand white

with secret buds extends a leathered
leaf. With the sun on your eyelids, clutch
what is dripping, dropping

forward in flesh-covered waves.
A new ground is sweetly broken.
Shield your face from the sonorous

heat. Enough will be your lot
to inherit. Less will be the branch
at your feet.

 

Eileen G’Sell’s cultural criticism, essays, and poetry can be found in Salon, VICE, Boston Review, DAME, DIAGRAM, Conduit, Ninth Letter, Secret Behavior, and the Denver Quarterly, among others; in 2013, she was awarded the 2013 American Literary Review prize for poetry. Her chapbooks are available from Dancing Girl and BOAAT Press, and she is a features editor for The Rumpus. She currently teaches rhetoric and poetry at Washington University, and creative writing for the Prison Education Project at Missouri Eastern Correctional Center. In early 2018, her first full-length book, Life After Rugby, will be published by Gold Wake Press. She lives in St. Louis and New York. 

Poetry by Eileen G’Sell also on Alivemag.com:

The Reason The Moon Moves

The Spring Of Things

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