THREE POEMS

Ambitious,

i.m. Ellen Willis (1941–2006)

yes, likely storyagain takes me in, full ridecomically uninformedthough I got St. Mark’s had longperformed itself, that little tea shopnamed after a Stones song (a guyexplained it to me) I’d frequentand pour my calories into makingrent but never really talk with Ellenbefore she died—her silence, absolutethrust my polite papering over mysilence into choking high altitude—but when I went to work for Bob she saiddistinctly there are things on earthbesides, what was her termpolicy papers, that might not have beenher term—cut short, the city’s gonesimulacrumLittle York, every greatcity leaves a little city in its wake,even Troy had it done to itand the hero as he passedthrough most complimentary,his way of nodding tosolidarity, that’s how he’d pressrenewal out of those migrants of hisand something like this toowas her philosophy, but I am forcedto pour it out, her half of teawould be to sit in silence, undauntedwords for paragraphs although I hearshe had friends too, friends she spoke towell knowing it’s no use tellingsome things, they need situationso much situationthe slant of land, tiny far-off crenellationsthe need’s so great they build a Little Troylike I keep trying to tell youI moved here because he meant toit tumbles out, slope or no, as whenno telling what you’d bewithout the one born before you