It’s easy to forget

the supple things —

the shades of joy,

the many ways to move.


The supple things:

the glide, the swoop,

the many ways to move

besides the plod.


The glide, the swoop,

have you outgrown them?

Besides the plod,

does your foot caress?


Have you outgrown them,

the many shades of joy?

Does your foot caress?

It’s easy to forget.

The Day I Left

Abandoned hall narrowing away, frames


of light and shadow / light and shadow,


banding into distance–



Standing in the telescope’s mouth


to empty my box, receiving the






for the last




In cinderblock silence . . . a sound

night rich as a ripe wild grape,

sweet strong as a soprano voice,

this small, oblong being’s release,

his body a quiver of song.

Hour One

To begin, I go shopping —

coffee and tea and several

extravagancies — as if

one could lure the muse

with dark chocolate and

a cider-scented candle.

Greetings from Elena

Hi, everyone!

I’m a poet from rural Illinois who finds herself transplanted to a south suburb of Chicago. A sense of place plays an important part in my poetry and my life, and recently my relationship with several important spaces has changed. I’m hoping that perhaps participating in this marathon will help me explore some of that and find some grounding . . . or at least gain a sense of hope and direction moving forward. But perhaps I will write about entirely different things! At any rate, it will be a neat challenge and I’ll get to read others’ poems!

This is my first attempt at a poetry marathon of any sort. To prepare, I want to sharpen my poetic ears by memorizing poems by several of my favorite poets. I also enjoy, at times, the structure of certain traditional poetic forms, so I’ll want to make sure I have reminders of how they work handy–ha! And, of course, I’ll need some creature comforts–most importantly, black tea with milk and sugar!

I’m most excited about working in the wee hours of the morning (although, I hope I’m not too spent by then to be creative). There’s something so timeless about the space between midnight and the moments when the birds begin to sing.

Best wishes to all my fellow poets and adventurers!

~ Elena Lee