Vox Populi
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Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Stillbirth
On a platform, I heard someone call out your name: No, Laetitia, no. It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing, but I rushed in, searching for your face. But no Laetitia. No. No one in that car could have been you, but I rushed in, searching for your face: no longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two. No one in that car could have been you. Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen. No longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two: I sometimes go months without remembering you. Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen: I was told not to look. Not to get attached— I sometimes go months without remembering you. Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space. I was told not to look. Not to get attached. It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing. Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space. On a platform, I heard someone calling your name.
From A New Hunger by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Published by Ausable Press. Copyright © 2007 by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Vox Populi 
Choking back tears. Tender, rhythmical, stirring
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powerful poem
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This is the first poem by Laure-Anne Bosselaar I ever read and I have read it to myself, to others, a thousand times since. It is always alive, always organic, true to itself. Thank you for posting, Vox Populis. And thank you, always, Laure-Anne.
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