Poetry By Elisa Carlsen

     Dr. Matthias Ripp CC


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WHY DOES MY HEART FEEL SO BAD?


The clothes I wore when my sister died 
are in a white plastic bag.

I am in the bag too, 
tied in a knot for eighteen months
with the last of her breath, she carefully measured,
so I would be there when she turned 
from a body to a bright blue light.

And with us is the only love I ever felt
that was love and love alone.
and our feathered hair and freckled skin 
and the music we loved on MTV 
and the final score of Player 1.

in a bag / on a shelf 
in the closet of a beautiful house 
is everything we ever were 
and will be to each other
there, in the dark. 

and outside, it is raining 
or about to rain. 
an engine breaks a blind curve.
and the road is winding 
the whole way home.





SONG TO THE SIREN 

in lieu of an ocean, 
we drove the old highway
in a ‘78 Cutlass Supreme, 
rocking and swaying
over potholes and frost heaves.
your hands on the wheel 
to steady the bow.
my tiny legs stuck to the vinyl seat 
like gum. 

you were my mother then, 
a belter and a funny bird
who called the wind Mariah 
after your favorite song, 
the one with the lyric 
writ in our blood
you sang to me
on a stage of dashboard lights

‘I’m so lost; not even God can find me.’

you lived those tenor notes
eyes lit by a blue flame.
with a voice that could turn 
a car into a cage
I pray that God will find you,
and take some of the blame
for our loneliness and shattered self
to be loved and loveless with one breath.

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Elisa Carlsen (she/they) grew up in Humboldt County, Nevada. Elisa is a poet, artist, and rusted metal fanatic. Their work has appeared in SixFold, VoiceCatcher, Nevada Arts Council, and Oranges Journal. Elisa won the Lower Columbia Regional Poetry Contest with the Writers Guild of Astoria in 2021; and recently completed their first poetry collection, Cormorant, forthcoming from Unsolicited Press.
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