Nadine Ellsworth-Moran
Red-Eye Flight
a found poem
Arrive ready for
sacrifice.
I’ve managed to carry
my years, but overwhelmed
I run to her, wake paranoid
because I forgot my gamble
comes filled with need,
something key—
security
Self-explanatory Spill-proof
I never keep for myself pain, or
love. I hide my face,
protect who I saved.
Original text used for found poem.
I listen for the tumblers to fall into place
marvelously useless keys that confounded the reason
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
According to the London Mirror, the average person carries nine keys, but only knows what six of those keys will unlock. Meaning, three of those keys carried around daily, jangling in the pocket or swimming about in the depths of a purse, are complete mysteries. Mysteries the average person seems to be completely complacent about carrying and will only, on occasion, cast their thoughts on the questions, Why do I have this key? What in this world does it unlock?
I always want to believe in reason,
in hopes it will provide the key
to unlocking all that has confounded
me. Though I admit, I am often confounded
by many things. Insights other reasonable
people seem to acquire with facility, I must key
into my mind, carve in that gray stone, just to reason
out the reason I should want to be un-confounded—
for very often I believe, mystery is key.
In an attempt to control our keys, we capture them on utility rings, key disks, and carabiners. We color-code & number them in an effort to know what each one unleashes, unlocks, looses upon the world: the keys to the Kingdom, the answer key, the key to success & happiness, the key for the door at the end of the world, if such a door exists, is on someone’s keychain — perhaps,
one of the mysterious three.
Locks in multiverse
abound. Break their mystery, keys
summon worlds to be.
Eyes are the windows
I know my sisters by their eyes,
though I have only brothers, still
my sisters exist, connected by disguise
to cover our divided hearts.
Though I have only brothers, still
I am an only child in this discourse,
so as to cover my divided heart
I gather my sisters, my soul resource.
For I am an only child in this discourse—
my own subterfuge runs with the deep
within my sisters, my soul resource,
whose eyes conceal the secrets they keep,
while my own subterfuge runs with the deep
and I pour out my sins as easily as lies
and my eyes can veil the secrets I keep—
Yes, I know my sisters by their eyes.
Nadine Ellsworth-Moran lives in Georgia where she serves full time in ministry. She has a passion for writing and is fascinated by the stories of the modern South unfolding all around her as she seeks to bring everyone into conversation at a common table. Her essays and poems have appeared in Rust+Moth, Calla Press, Theophron, Interpretation, Ekstasis, Thimble, Emrys, Structo, and Kakalak, among others. She lives with her husband and four unrepentant cats.
