Ugly; Yarrow; A Verse

Rory Elliott



Ugly comes quickly

and tells you to stare into it

As it stops right before you, like at a crosswalk,

You consider it.

Inside is a mirror,

No cracks,

No tricks,

Just a mirror

Maybe a sink

Crusty toothpaste, maybe

Its morning

And you remembered to wipe off your eyeliner the night before

Maybe again you realize why you forget

Maybe you pretend yellow is gold






My Yarrow is trying.

It is pushing its way

Towards showing true leaves

But its so soft i always forget to tender it.

I’m working my way out of the outside

Into my life

And grabbing on to these slivers of sunshine

Warbling through the thickness of air,



And carrying it further

And faster

Than sight.

Everything seems to be

Unfolding and

stretching unfolding and stretching

Unfolding and stretching and telling its story

A bright light and then reflection.

Today I saw two car blinkers,

Synchronized perfectly



A Verse

The sound would be a wall of thunder. The color would be totality, pure black
-Justin Rigamonti


There is the possibility of harmonization.

Of hue and tone,

Of the various ways blues can green,

And the awning of your transitions

Can be a translucent orange,

Letting the sky above you change its form to hug you a bit lighter.


Each day would be a verse,

Alive in the chamber of the being.

As we all know some days stand still,

Like a break,

And alone, one trumpet engages with the spectacle

One slowly rising to frantic brassy

Till the whole orchestra of your life crashes in,

Dripping like jazz

As you remember you love yourself,

As much as any god could promise,

And all the colors sway.





Rory Elliott is a poet residing in Portland, Oregon. She sees how her day might be going by the synchronicity of turn signals. She makes music for the walls and fellow queers and can't help anthropomorphizing everything. She has been published in the American Chordata, Structural Damage and the Pointed Circle.