I read her poem over and over
becoming familiar with the tone, trying
to find meaning in the snapped
twigs of line breaks.
How does the imagery speak to me?
“Rotisseried hen,” Hot dogs, “Honey,”
“Loaf of the body,” Stale heel of bread.”
Is Ellen hungry or am I?
I imagine turning the poem to prose,
The soft clack of the backspace,
Returning margins to their rightful owners.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The loyal organs of her poem are still there
The soft consonance of the first stanza still exists
Sliding around the tongue.