by Elyce | Sep 10, 2025 | poems, stories
That’s somewhere my parents never went
The attic-garage-operating room
It’s the place you go to develop your art, rearrange your engine, and survive
My parents didn’t know the sacred grit of a dive bar
My mom and dad never fostered that ache
They didn’t experience the community of ripped upholstery and ashtrays
The map of life led me to these cashed-in, burnt-out venues because it must have understood me
I want to connect with others who are clinging on
Context is everything
Listen
The dive bar is for finding the guy next to you
Giving him a cheers
Lighting his cigarette
Playing his song
And seeing him next Wednesday
by Elyce | Jul 14, 2025 | winter
I hate your hay hair
That must be the driest pluck of farmland in California
You’re a fire hazard
Do you like having hair made of straw?
Are you waiting for Rumplestiltskin to weave it into gold?
This must be the peak of dehydration
Your hay hair is drier than sand
It’s kindling
The crows are coming to nest
by Elyce | May 24, 2025 | poems, stories
He fits in here like this place was built to take his luggage and hand him a room key.
There’s been absolutely no interruption.
It’s been like adding nicer pillows and better towels.
Having him here feels like we got new refrigerator magnets, but these ones have words of encouragement and not casual reasons to give up and find rope.
by Elyce | Apr 25, 2025 | winter
Must be humiliating
when the invitations go unanswered
Worse though
when the help prefers to clear the tables
than endure the party
by Elyce | Feb 12, 2025 | poems
When you speak, Carlene,
it sounds like you’re electrocuting time
In the car, your talking turns thick,
like you’ve smeared it all over the tires
made your voice gargantuan
Carlene,
you rival nature in self-contained story
with a sound of cawing birds or buzzing flies
now glued here forever
to silently gnaw at my memory
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