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3 Poems By Ella Shively


We Already Have Sad at Home


But I want to purchase my Sad

fresh off the shelf.

I want to tuck it into my basket

between the eggs and the 89-cent mini pumpkin.

I want my Sad certified organic

but also on sale.

I want my Sad in a cardboard box

with crosswords on the back.

I want the stupid baby in the stupid cart

to stop waving at me.

I want to be the stupid baby

in the stupid cart.

I want everyone to get out of my way

because this shopping cart was made for speed.

I want to be the girl at Trader Joe’s with her puffed sleeves

and tragic eyes and velvet bow.

I want to shoplift a little Sad so I can look like her.

I want to be a beautiful crier.

I want my tears to fall like vegetable mist

and not like potatoes.

I want everyone in the supermarket

to have a crush on me.

I want the cashier

to ask if I’m okay.

I want him to say, the ladies blocking the pasta aisle think you’re hot.

And also, this bag of shredded cheese is on the house.

I want to hear, attention all shoppers! Corporate has to know:

Who is the young woman looking so tortured but also sexy in the deli?

I want to say, I’m sorry for crying

over whole unspilled cartons of almond milk.

I want to run home and tear the plastic

off my brand-new Sad with my teeth.

I want to tell everyone at the potluck

I baked it myself.

I want to scoff: Why would anyone spend good money on canned Sad

when you could make it yourself at half the cost?

I want to retract my earlier statement: if you don’t like the Sad

you have at home, store-bought is fine.



Bumble Bee Survey in a Field of Creeping Thistle


bees have come to trouble the thistles,

bees that sleep in the ground like the dead.

last January, I sat by a pale window

and translated a poem about thistles, badly.

almohada de cansados I called the exhausting pillow.

I might sleep on a bed of thistles

if my skin did not itch at the memory of their sting.

what do bees dream of? for that matter, what do I?

a crackling in my head when I wake

like the vibrations of a hundred tiny wings.

now I crouch in a field of tall plants

and count the flowers in a one-by-one meter plot.

Cirsium arvense, I speak aloud;

no curses, only ancient words

fermenting on my tongue.

translation: this quadrat is full to bursting with thistle.

my knuckles are on fire where I swung

my hands so carelessly.


above my head, heavy-bodied bumbles

jam their pollen-dusted faces

down among the purple blooms.

sky gathers like a skirt full of beech nuts.

blue deepening to violet, blossom bobbing

on a swollen mass of bracts,

rain to drive the bees back to their nests,

or to the bristling shelter of a leaf.

these bees won’t die if they sting,

and still, they choose peace.

prickles scald my thighs as I push

forward, racing the storm,

breath crashing against

the low music of wind.

the bees are humming.

so am I.



Migratory Bird


sometimes when I look at you,

asleep beside the dwindling fireplace

while snowflakes drift

as soft as cherry blooms,

I find myself lingering

on the fresh-sprung tendril

of your smile,

and I am suddenly saddened

by the thought of spring,

when surely the flight instinct

will seize my body

once again


ABOUT:


Ella Shively is a writer and naturalist from Wisconsin. She graduated from Northland College with degrees in Natural Resources and Writing in 2021, after which she embarked on a career as a salamander chauffeur and bumble bee botanizer. She is currently working toward her MFA in Poetry at Cornell University. Her writing has been published in RockPaperPoem, Bracken, Runestone Journal, and elsewhere. You can find her on Instagram @shivelywrites.



EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: re:BORN -- crashing:DOWN





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© 2022-PRESENT by dipity literary magazine

Dipity Literary Magazine aims to shine a light on a wide array of underrepresented voices from different parts of the world including BIPOC, LGBTQ+, creators with disabilities, and also those from Instagram, or aspiring poets. We accept unpublished poetry of all styles i.e. haikus, art, prose, spoken audio, and short fiction stories. Short stories are the exception of previously published ones.  Additionally, we spotlight discovered unique writing styles through a bonus shares section and musicians who are supportive of the poetry world.  Dipity leverages visual morph art,  photography, and experimental digital collage work in each issue. Dipity values human kindness, exposing heartfelt truths, and taking time to have fun in writing while pushing traditional boundaries. You must write what you truly feel and release every slippery banana peel in this dimension. 

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