We had a great time talking to Issue 2 contributor Aster Ellis about their piece “Front Seat Confessional.” Continue on to explore queerness in the South and how it intersects with religion.

When I first read “Front Seat Confessional,” I was particularly impressed by your characterization. From the starkly unique voice of the narrator (“I think of your eyes, those earthy brown bugs of beauty, ‘cause I can’t look at ‘em and watch the road at once”) to the way the dialogue expertly illustrates the central relationship (“Oh, we got the bee police over here now? Damn right you do”), you convey so much about the characters in such a short piece. How did you approach crafting these characters? How did you settle on the voice of the narrator?

Both characters in Front Seat Confessional are loosely based on experiences that I have had and that I’ve heard about from others. The poem’s subject matter–being queer in the south of the United States–is something I’ve gone through (and still am going through now), so it was very important to me for this poem to be grounded in realism. As for the voice of the narrator, I could say I had thought out writing in a southern accent as a way to subtly characterize the extent of influence of the setting on the narrator, but that would be a lie. In actuality, the poem just came to me written out in that particular style, and all the thematic reasoning came after. 

Religion is present throughout the piece, whether in the title itself or in reference to holiness and God. Can you tell us about how you tackled that theme? How does it play into the relationship between the two characters?

If you’re writing about queer experiences in the south of the United States, it’s difficult not to consider religion. While I am lucky to not be directly exposed to religiously-reasoned homophobia frequently, it certainly exists in my sphere of life. I, like with the characterization of the narrator, drew from real experiences as my basis for tackling that theme. Religion plays a heavy role in the relationship between the two characters and the entire piece gestures towards the disconnect they feel from each other due to religious expectations and standards. The nature of the “front seat confessional” is that the characters can talk more freely when they do not look at each other–when they are not faced with what they have been taught is a sin–and the hopeful thought the narrator has for the future is one where the two characters can talk face-to-face.

The piece ends with the narrator imagining the future, the tone a mix of hopeful and melancholy. What were you thinking about as you wrote the ending to this piece? How do you approach writing endings more broadly?

The ending to Front Seat Confessional isn’t its actual end in my mind–the poem is but a glimpse into these two characters’ relationship. As I wrote the ending to the piece, I was keeping in mind that this was not the real end of the story, but more like a comfortable silence with a friend after talking for hours. A concrete ending would be a disservice to not only the characters, but the lived experiences that I drew from to write this poem. Life keeps going, and people do as well, no matter where you’re situated or what standards are put on you. I approach broad endings as not an end, per say, but a brushstroke or suggestion of what could happen in the future; a reassurance that life doesn’t stop, and neither do we.

What’s a literary magazine you enjoy reading? Are there any pieces in particular that you’d recommend?

I love the Evergreen Review and would highly recommend reading! One of my favorite pieces from Evergreen is “They are burning ballot boxes” from the Spring/Summer issue of 2025.

Finally, since we’re Marmalade Lit, do you have a favorite bread, pastry, or jam?

I am a sourdough fanatic who dreams of one day having a real sourdough starter.