poetry by elena colás

Explanation

sometimes when i write, i twitch.
once in sixth grade a girl named ashley saw-

my hand holding a pencil moving in quick staccato,
little shoulders in a shame curve over the page.

she said so loudly, ugh why do you do that?
and for fifteen years i wondered. 

now ashley, here it is:
i am being shaken by a walking god

to get out these words, stuck like
little gravel in me, the shoe.

Exposed

some who care for my comfort
say i don’t dress for the weather, 

rather offer up my limbs to
breezy nonsense of all kinds.

so i thought alright, okay maybe
i am a little vain. a bit too quick
to trust a bright blue sky.

then a better answer came last night:

i keep as little as can be between
the stars and this body of mine.

Elena lives, works, and writes in Chicago with her cat, Cambridge.