Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 16,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage
Mine is not from the morass of Flanders’
marshes, although their hues ink my eyes.
Not from a mother: her head spun, always,
away.
Nor from convent walls or kisses I hid —
head bowed — inside my childhood palms
to quiet longing. Such longing.
But from a Flemish farmer, once,
who held my face in both hands to kiss
my brow for no more than a second —
that brief — but with such will & tenderness
that I can now lift my head far back,
to read the clouds.
I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.
From those tides, those ebbings.
From two wedding bands on my finger,
from them too — & from every book I ever held:
my shelved provenance, language womb & sail.
Copyright 2021 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. First published in Five Points, Vol 20, #3.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar is the author of These Many Rooms (Four Way Books, 2019) and served as Poet Laureate of Santa Barbara until April 2021.
Vox Populi 
Gorgeous and so personal.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree! I love Laure-Anne’s poems. So passionate and beautifully crafted.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a powerful poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree!
LikeLiked by 1 person
But from a Flemish farmer, once,
who held my face in both hands to kiss
my brow for no more than a second —
that brief — but with such will & tenderness
that I can now lift my head far back,
to read the clouds.
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this poem
LikeLiked by 1 person