A Literary Feast

Posts by Ellen Saunders


Posted on August 19th, 2013

They say sing and you do, blithely, bright as a bird, as the cracked meat, red on a white plate and I sit, stoppered up, shy, private with my hands doing some small dance on my hidden lap– my playing, better but yours, public–   some future date some stray breath of sea snaps the line taut once more and there, the distant glitter of the off key–I still don’t perform to strangers, any of the secrets, knuckle deep, shell sweet.

Sensory Exchange: To Every Steam, A Color.

Posted on March 28th, 2011

1. It is early morning, the light gathering indistinct at the window, but breaking open, above the buildings. Scooping down into the dark secret of the ceramic cannister, and fishing up the beans–the sudden violent sound of the grinder, in the kitchen. Into the paper funnel, and the water reaching boiling on the stove, comes to join them. Brown, you think. The rising exhalation is deep and brown.