SIGN OFF - ELLIE SNYDER

February 14, 2025

Sign Off

While out at Bullman’s Pizza with Ty and Caroline
to celebrate the job offer my mother watched
her most recent ex-husband arrive with a woman
and sit down next door. By the time I visit in three
weeks I expect she’ll have been on at least
that many dates, less thin, no longer saying
she’d just like to find a companion. Still saying
she’d just like to warn the new woman, he’ll
fuck her up. Her laugh convincing since finally true.
She’ll still be sad I don’t want love from my lover. 

My brother? Starts flying tomorrow and put down
crabby deaf white-faced Daisy yesterday,
his dog at his dad’s. Grief never gives a moment.
He is otherwise happy, obsessive, the straightest
gay man possible, glancing up against the staples
only thanks to the man with whom he exchanged
gold bands on a bench in Mexico City. Thanks to
Brayden I can tell my brother I think I’m Miranda
but also Samantha and a little bit Carrie. They’ll
marry once settled in Colorado, once my brother
is used to his monthly jumps across the sky.

I love them more than usual tonight without
wanting to speak to them. A signature
lifted the fog and it’s like I no longer have
a single problem, perpetual catch plucked
from my throat. The sleep alone. I’ve learned
how to eat again and walk uphill, I’ve read
200 books. I’m finally moving forward.
I just remembered I used to eat men.

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Montanan poet Ellie Snyder writes and manages socials for a global nonprofit and is passionate about literature, fashion and music. Find her work in Pangyrus, The Headlight Review, The Blood Pudding, and elsewhere, and find her fitchecks on Instagram @elliegsnyder.