Abstract
Fatal April Thomas Sayers Ellis (bio) The phone rang. It was Doris, Your sister, calling to say April had taken you, where, In your bedroom, when, days ago, How, murder, no, a stroke. You left a car (but I Don’t drive) and enough cash In your pockets to buy A one-way train ticket From Boston to Washington. Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t take the money, but I did take your Driver’s License And the Chuck Brown album, Needle to groove, Round and round, Where they found you. Both were metaphors. The license I promised, but knew I’d never get—now I have yours And the album because Of what you may have been Trying to say about writing, About home. James keeps Asking me to visit your grave, When will I learn to drive And why I changed my name. He’s your son, stubborn with An inherited temper. I keep telling him No, never, there’s more than One way to bury a man. Works by Thomas Sayers Ellis • Tambourine Tommy • Fatal April • The Market • A PSYCHOALPHADISCOBETABIOAQUADOLOOP Thomas Sayers Ellis Thomas Sayers Ellis is studying for the M.F.A. degree in creative writing at Brown University. His work has appeared in a number of periodicals, including Agni, The Kenyon Review, Southern Review, The Harvard Review, and Ploughshares. He is a co-founding member of the Dark Room Writers Collective and co-editor of On the Verge: Emerging Poets and Artists, an anthology. Copyright © 1995 Charles H. Rowell
Published Version
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