Vox Populi
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Laure-Anne Bosselaar: About My Birthday
When winds whet their edges
on the angles of roofs & the long manes
of rain leave traces on my window,
when the last leaves let go, let go,
have all let go, & it’s almost winter again —
don’t remember my birthday.
Give me another one: let it be in May,
sated, lit — the month my children were born,
but not in November, gray-gorged
like the morning I first gasped, un-
welcomed by my parents. Forty years later
to the day, I closed the casket at last
on my father’s bloated face, his white
mane slicked back — I almost stroked it —
no one with me
at the Antwerp crematory: my mother
too busy dressing up for the funeral reception,
and he had no family. Not a leaf was left
on the old cemetery oaks, even the wind
& rain had nothing to hang onto, so they
slapped the ashes into my face,
& soaked the fur coat my mother forced me
to wear: Do it for me, look like a lady for once.
But no one came to the cemetery, no one
was there to see me, except for the funeral
employees, eager to get it over with: Belgium
was playing Germany at soccer that day.
So let my birthday be in May, with its eager
dawns & long green afternoons, the trees
freckling sidewalks with mellow shades.
Send me a card then, or take me to a sidewalk
café & let’s simply sit there, not talking too much.
That would be plenty. That would be enough.
~~~~
Laure-Anne Bosselaar is a Belgian-American poet, translator, professor, and former poet laureate of Santa Barbara, California. She is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently, Lately (Sungold Editions, 2023) and These Many Rooms (Four Way Books, 2019). Her collection, Small Gods of Grief (BOA Editions), won the 2001 Isabella Gardner Prize for Poetry. A New Hunger, (Ausable Press 2008) was an American Library Association Notable Book in 2008. She is the author of Artémis, a collection of French poems, published in Belgium.
Copyright 2024 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Originally published in A NEW HUNGER (Ausable, 2007). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
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I always learn so much about marrying metaphor & imagery to create tone when I read your poems. Thank you!
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“& rain had nothing to hang onto, so they
slapped the ashes into my face,
& soaked the fur coat my mother forced me
to wear: Do it for me, look like a lady for once.”
This poem makes me feel deeply sad. It’s so good. My birthday is in May. And yet, many people I love deeply were born in November. There ya go, Laure-Anne! ❤️
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Oh, I have long adored this heart-breaking poem from Laure-Anne’s A NEW HUNGER. She’s one of our absolute best poets!
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I agree!
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Thank you, dear Meg!
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Such an exquisite poem! But I would expect no less from you, dear Laure-Anne. Your work is stunning, always. I’m a huge fan!
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Ditto about our “fan-ship” dear one! And thank you for that!
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Stunning, Laure-Anne. Stunning! I remember this poem from A NEW HUNGER. How wonderful to read it again!
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Thank you dear Christine.
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Thanks, Laure-Anne, from a May baby x
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Another glorious gut-punch of a poem. Wow. I feel that cemetery and the anger at the ridiculous expectations.
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Thank you!
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wow, powerful and beautiful (and plentiful!)
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Yes!
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One of my favorites of Laure-Anne’s poems, grief and defiance rumbling under a beautiful surface. Brava!
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Thank you, dear Richard!
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I agree, Richard. Laure-Anne is my fave.
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Laure-Anne, I am so glad to see your poems posted on Facebook. Keep them coming. They are great and I am honored to have met you and know you in person and to have worked with you where you edited my poetry.
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good poem
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Another fine poem by Laure-Anne, my fellow December birthmate.
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Love the understated ways this lovely poem, presents a rather painful relationship with parents. As a November child myself, I know just what this speaker means about the leafless and the greatness. I especially like what I want to call the humble wish at the end, the modest wish, for comfort and companionship..
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Love the understated ways this lovely poem, presents a rather painful relationship with parents. As a November child myself, I know just what this speaker means about the leafless and the greatness. I especially like what I want to call the humble wish at the end, the modest wish, for comfort and companionship..
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the understated ways this lovely poem, presents a rather painful relationship with parents. As a November child myself, I know just what this speaker means about the leafless and the greatness. I especially like what I want to call the humble wish at the end, the modest wish, for comfort and companionship..
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What a powerful poem. “…gray-gorged
like the morning I first gasped, un-
welcomed by my parents.” Let’s give this stunning poet her wished-for birthday in May!
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Thank you, my dear Susie!
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Laure-Anne, in my book you can do no wrong. But this poem grabbed me in so many ways. I know Antwerp in the winter, I almost stroked my father’s hair, that fur coat (to be a lady for once) my strange longing for a Northern European November with Summer coming here in Peru, and the ‘yes’ that came unbidden with every line. This is just masterful: “[…] even the wind / & rain had nothing to hang onto, so they / slapped the ashes into my face,”
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Yes, the hair, the fur coat, ashes.
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Such kindness — thank you, Rosemary!
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Reading this poem is like opening my eyes on a cruel night, and there’s the Aurora Borealis.
Thanks for the life you share with us readers, Laure-Anne. And the courage you help us find with your verse and your spirit.
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Thank you!
Thank you, dear Jim!
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