I know you read this poem
late, before you leave the hedge fund
of the singular pulsing lamp-mark & the dusking window
in the exhaustion of an office tipping into quiet
past rush-hour. I know you read this poem
sitting with your spine pinned to a bookshelf in a shop far from the shore
on a downcast day of premature spring, faded flecks roaming
through the field surrounding you.
I know you read this poem
in a sickroom where an excess has happened for you to carry
where the linens lie in indolent coils on the mattress
& the open armoire talks of leaving with C.S. Lewis to Narnia
but you can’t leave. I know you read this poem
as the highway hampers its momentum & before running
down the stairs
to jump on the underground in search of a new type of affection
your life never invited.
I know you read this poem by the false light
of the iPhone as you thumb through a jerk of images
or while you wait for the newscast from the West Bank.
I know you read this poem in an orthopedist’s waiting room
of stares requited & unrequited, of common ground with strangers.
I know you read this poem by synthetic bulbs
in the ennui of Gen Z who are subtracted out,
subtract themselves out, too hurriedly. I know
you read this poem despite your waning sight, the dense
lorgnette growing these letters beyond their meaning yet you go on because the lone letters are valuable.
I know you read this poem as you sway before the kettle
simmering tea, an infant on your shoulder, a dishwasher manual in your hand
because life is brief & you are parched.
I know you read this poem which is in another language
skipping over some words because others encourage you to stay the course
& I want to know which words keep you reading.
 I know you read this poem holding on for something, ripped
between acerbity & belief
returning to the alphabet you cannot decline.
I know you read this poem because there is nothing else
remaining to read
here where you have come to rest, clear as you are
At 27, verging towards a doctorate at Harvard, Elly Katz went for a mundane procedure to stabilize her neck. Somehow, she survived what doctors surmised was unsurvivable: a brainstem stroke secondary to a physician’s needle misplacement. In the wake of the tragedy, she discovered the power of dictation and the bounty of metaphor. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in the Stardust Review, the Sacramento Literary Review, the Amsterdam Review, and many others. Her first collection of creative nonfiction, From Scientist to Stroke Survivor: Life Redacted is forthcoming from Lived Places Publishing in Disability Studies (2025). Her first collection of poetry, Instructions for Selling-Off Grief, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books (2025). She is enrolled in the MFA program at Queens College. Find out more at ellykatz.com.