Eloise Silver Van Meter

I dance. 
A spontaneous current of passion
It sometimes happens in my dreams
There’s this haze and everything is fluid
It’s my gentle waterfall
and I’m indifferent, but have a smile on my face

The Village Store, with its dim fluorescent lights, creaky floors, and expired milk, seems to stay open solely from selling coffee, Mountain Dew, and condoms.

Allow this simple note to act as an emblem of my deep and genuine gratitude for you. Allow my gratitude to enter your body as music enters your ears. Allow this gratitude to make your heart warm and melt and mend with mine. Thank you.
 

Frogman speaks to me in my sleep.
He talks in hums.
They mostly are one note and remain one, being held for 35 minutes in woken time
(that’s very long in sleep time).
Sometimes there is more than one voice.

When I think of magic
I’m immersed in the swamp behind my home
holding pine trees and an old yellow birch
with mysterious scaly vines
that I used to climb on and become a creature other than human.

I will turn the tenderness away when it comes knocking at my door
(I know it will come)
It’s all bullshit anyway
They’re clever though––those thoughts
(I prefer not to gender my thoughts, it’s a tendency I’m trying to stop)