Amy Ellis





Street scene


She holds a box of

doughnuts, lights a cigarette

in the morning fog.





Airing out our apartment after a fire


I hoped that the smell

of stale smoke would make you keep

the windows open


but we have closed up

tight, breathing in yesterday’s

soot until our lungs


turn as black as the

walls in the hallways they burned,

left us to live in.







My bones are hollow

and brittle like bird feathers

plucked and dipped in ink.







I found a condom

wrapper on the kitchen floor

this morning. Not mine.









Amy Ellis has a BA in Creative Writing from Longwood University and a MA in Digital Publishing from Oxford Brookes University.  She used to pay her rent self-publishing her writing and now works in publishing in London.  Sometimes she writes poems.  Amy Ellis is online at Amy-Ellis.com



 ē·                                                        <  ē·  >