Poem | Orchid

2017 – Lake Manyara, Tanzania

Written 2018, March 05
10:00 pm

She told him he should pick the flowers. He’d accepted the duty without a word. He likes the pink ones. Not pale, baby pink; lush pink, dark, like fire. Wild. She approaches from behind. They’re pink, she says. Yes. You can’t have pink, she says. Why not? Silence cuts the air between them. He wants to reach for her arm, cradle her elbow with the tips of his fingers. It’s been three weeks. She hasn’t even held his hand. She liked pink, he says. Pick something else, she says, and walks away.

Just published in Olentangy Review’s Spring 2018 issue: olentangyreview.com. Very happy to have this piece there.

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Poem | Twilight, Nov. 07, 05:50 am

2017 – Ihla de Mozambique, Mozambique

Written 2017, November 07
05:50 am

Light spreads its way
across the sky like a

drop of ink
on dry cotton sheets:

starts at one point
and expands

as wind shuffles
over bodies, seas

hoist your sails
and I’ll throw this one

the night can have it

hear the waves

how they seem satisfied
with their hour’s catch

and the dawn smells
so strongly

of copper
and of iron ore

and the clouds
are flowers, hyacinths

to be touched lightly, caressed
by your delicate fingers

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fingers comma toes | January 2018 Issue: Unthemed – published

fingers comma toes‘ January 2018 issue is now published. It is our first unthemed issue, and resulted in lots of diverse artwork and writing from students around the world.

The issue can be found here: fingerscommatoes.wordpress.com/2018/01/31/january-2018-issue-unthemed

For more information, see fingerscommatoes.wordpress.com.

Thank you.

—Lola Elvy

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Poem | From Your Eyes Spills Darkness (The Crow IV)

2016, December – Düsseldorf, Germany

Written 2018, January 21
11:18 am

The stone beneath your feet is cold
and smooth as the pads on the undersides
of your small toes, your gripping fingers
reaching, grasping, holding, tightening

I come to you with the shadows of millions
billions, with hands
like yours, hearts
like yours, skin

so soft and unafflicted
from your eyes darkness spills
it whispers thoughts with tendrils reaching
creaking and prying between my teeth

making old pains in my jaw ache dully
with the taste of fresh life
you are new to this world
a child in its wooden arms

and your slumber is ever sound
come, lie in my
wooden arms
my wings of death and solitude

I will fly you from this earth
build you a tower fit for the wisest
of fools and the wealthiest
of paupers

a heaven for your sins
a holy grail
for your richest-tasting sorrows
and the life that lives no more

shall be laid to rest behind your eyelids
that final beat of warmth
in the last hot tear that falls
down your curved cheek

come close your eyes and sleep
on the feathers of my back
ride with me with the souls of millions
with hands like yours, hearts like yours

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Poem | Towns

2016, December 21 - Austria (by the river Lech)

2016, December 21 – Austria (by the river Lech)

Written 2016, December 23
01:38 pm

The sun sets
and our smallest of towns
is painted red
in its infinitude

Snow falls
behind our eyes
in our dreams, the skies
are torn

spin ribbons
around us, —-dance
above our heads

In our minds, we learn
to sing
in our minds, we learn
to hear music

In the dark, you lie
so still

—Lola Elvy

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Poem | Inhale

2016, July—Lamu, Kenya

2016, July—Lamu, Kenya

2016, September 24
07:10 pm

Seven o’clock
The sun sets
The sky is dark

You and I
on opposite ends

of this

I want to believe
the earth is flat
I want to believe
that distance


that time
is an illusion
we can stop

by looking
at the stars
and holding

our breaths

—Lola Elvy

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Poem | The Spaces In Between

2016, July—Lamu, Kenya

2016, July—Lamu, Kenya

Written 2016, September 21
12:56 am

Your silhouette is black
against the midnight sky
your fingers, tight
——-like a promise

the stars cut the heavens into shapes
around us

and you sit listening
for the imperfections in this silence, only
to find
that there is none

I learned to love this night
for more than its simplicity

I learned to love this music
for the spaces in between


and you told me to listen
not for the sound, or the nightingale singing
its sacred tune
but for the vacant space

hanging empty
at our sides

filling up
our hearts

with words

—Lola Elvy

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