Ella Longpre

from The Odor of the Hoax Was Gone

Note: these poems are translated into English from illegible stories found in an anonymous notebook that surfaced in a lost-and-found box.


A lost earring, a small flint like a flame on a meteor that lights the night, then dies.

The light was, after they carried each other, rekindled. They looked at each other as if magnified in the rain.

The only window,
open to the rain, the
only picture of the


Four wings on the bird. Each of us
a weary canopy, a bird.
Each of us a bird.
Each of us the wing of a simple, blind bird.


So many triads – an elixir gone bad
Our eternal child – tears off a bunch of agapanthus,


“Dogs pinching flowers in their paws, I know in summer they have a relentless urge to carry love to their mothers in the same way.
In a park in heaven, I saw a dog planting flowers for a friend. He would attempt a tryst in the motel again. But the canine barked to herself.”

The very young can see summer waiting in the morning—

rising from a desert—the blink from patches of mirages,

a dream of the ocean itself.

The prows
of ships and lightning, pulling together,
until their breakage becomes the things around us.


                                                            (Twilight) Saturn held an idea,
                                                            intuited rain, should we miss our
                                                            own rain:
                                                                        Mirth – daren’t melt our guilt.
Regret – to have changed “our initiative”


Eurydice v. a Serpent
                        For her, I’ll hold our rain and
                        sun + I can slip regret into a larger pond. If she wants it.