Daniela Elza

Vancouver, 2023

you speak to me in skylines|

                            the techno of   concrete
             walls|      | cacophonies of 

light   &   noise   collide|      with glass
& |  asphalt          |             |

instead of   ocean chants |   & mountains.
the wind can’t tell the     | difference.   
                        it scales   |    the heights of 
             scrapers|        |shoves us   around 
  the corner     of Burrard|     |and Hastings.

you sold million-dollar-       views
                        then took away the view.

you up-zone   our loneliness|            |
re-zone    our dis/ease |        | our relation/
ships    |our sky.

regiments of your high rises have started
their own          weather         channels.

clouds and smoke take turns|      |rubbing 
against     windows|      |we cannot open. 
        |          most creatures here are out of
|                  |                   |            place and 
       |                      |                    |out of sorts
inaudible to     |
themselves|               |           |
amidst the haze of your daily nonchalance. 


Black and white photo of Daniela Elza. Elza has shoulder-length hair and is wearing a dark collar shirt. She is looking away from the camera and resting her chin on her fist.

Daniela Elza lived on three continents before immigrating to Canada in 1999. Her latest poetry collections are the broken boat (2020) and slow erosions (2020). She placed second in the 2022 Ken Belford Poetry Prize for Social Justice and won first place in the 2023 Muriel’s Journey Poetry Prize. [provided for the Arc Award of Awesomeness in September 2023]

Skip to content