The Logbook of Movement
Right now, the bus boy is counting his money
through the faces of those coming down
from the bus.
Right now, the bus boy is counting his money
through the faces of those coming down
from the bus.
Stepping into the living room, she drops
her suit top with a soft crush.
Swear, I say, you’re not in my head,
As you go on about molecules of water,
From our apartment’s window: the sky scrubbed sterile. Trees thin with near winter.
“This book is a palimpsest, an encapsulation of influences. Here are the remnants we collect from our loved ones, from our days, the bits of dialogue, the stories, images, and small gestures that mold us. How can we mend and be mended? Through the attempt, the insistence, to forget nothing.”
I love how the act of paying attention defamiliarizes spaces that I’ve been to many times before and makes them feel new and exciting.—Ally Ang
“Ellis is specific about her use of the word “bout” to represent a defined timeframe as well as a struggle. And while her experience of wilderness is personal, it is never possessive.”
We are delighted to feature our 2025 James Welch Prize winners and finalists in our online folio.
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