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Eleanor Park

Poet · PottyPoet Author

Poems Published

219243

Total Reads

44031

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734

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Poetry by Eleanor Park

This is love: not the grand gesture but the accumulation of coordinates, until I could find you anywhere.

The trees have been practicing this performance all year.

You left it on the counter. / Milk, bread, the good butter

There is a feeling I get / around 4 p.m. on gray Sundays

We are suspended here between two worlds, / Above the cloud-line, below the endless blue

The trees have given their notices. All summer long they worked...