Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 6,000,000 visitors since 2014 and over 9,000 archived posts.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Lassitude
It wouldn’t take much on a night like this, to walk
into it, wear it, be cloaked with it, disappear into it —
the stars barely visible above the oil rigs off the coast,
aglow like phantom ships.
Instead, I pick up the old cat who brushes against
the rosemary. She mews, barely.
There’s such lassitude about her — tired of being
the only living thing in the house with me now —
tired of how I need to hold her against me, too tight,
before she can wrest herself out of my arms
& disappear into it — this night.
~~~~
Copyright 2026 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. (This is a revised
version of a poem titled “This Night” published in These
Many Rooms by Four Way Books, 2019).
Laure-Anne Bosselaar is a Belgian-American poet, translator, professor, and former poet laureate of Santa Barbara, California. Her many collections of poetry include Lately: New and Selected Poems (Sungold, 2024).
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
How warmly grateful I am for all your kind responses to this poem. Thank you dear poets — thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
So many have articulated what I might have said, and so much better than me. I’m just grateful to hear Laure-Anne’s voice in the world.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Ohhhhh … this poem. The connection. The loneliness. The love. The grief. The longing–really, the need–to hold, to be held. You share it so beautifully, Laure-Anne.
LikeLiked by 2 people
How beautifly she sings the undercurrent of grief here, weaving its threads into a garment to be worn, a night to settle into and accept. It is interesting to see the shifts made between this version and that in These Many Rooms. For instance, toward the end where the speaker comes in, the poem has shifted from the second person “you” to the first person “I,” as if to take on the grief inherent in the poem, to be fully present. And this something I love about Bosselaar’s poems: their intimacy, their vulnerability. And she refines the poems toward that. So beautiful.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Beautifully said. Thank you, Mike
LikeLiked by 3 people
Catherine Gonick writes: I love how the cat goes into the night in lieu of the speaker and presumably will return to her too tight arms,
LikeLiked by 4 people
I very much like the change to first person here…from the original in These Many Rooms. I get the feeling from reading the poem that there is enough lassitude to go around—but it’s definitely the poet’s poem…the “I” and not “you” as it was originally written.
This is a wonderful little poem that leaves something unanswered, and requires the readers empathy from the start, “It wouldn’t take much…”
Perhaps they are both missing the same thing…or person.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks, HC!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I noticed that change from “you” to “I/me” as well. It’s quite significant. I saw it as a refinement toward vulnerability in the poem. It is really a marvelous poem. Simunltaneously lyrical and tender in its handling of complex emotion.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Simple, elegant, heart wrenching. ❤
LikeLiked by 3 people
Yes! Thanks, Jef.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I love this poem also because it helped me discover the power of the word “lassitude,” whose etymology refers to “weary”–when I looked up weary I found “to crumble, break down, totter.” Yes, that how I have felt during such times.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks, Bill.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a wonderfully complex examination of “lassitude”–I loved this one, Laure Anne
LikeLiked by 4 people
Oh so beautiful, Laure-Anne, and laced with a sparkling solemnity. And where is that sweet Luna? Love to you, Poet. Thank you for this prayer.
LikeLiked by 3 people
This is one I will keep close. My dog, Tashi, can be more catlike in her aloofness, but we grow old together, alone, and when we share a brief cuddle, it is more special for its rarity. Last night we stood on the deck on a winter night turned summer by the Santa Ana, only a few stars, and an early jasmine bloom scenting the night.
LikeLiked by 7 people
Lovely lyrical prose, Barb. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It wouldn’t take much on a night like this, to walk
into it, wear it, be cloaked with it, disappear into it —
Such simplicity and such depth – thank you Laure-Anne, your words add depth to living.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I consider it a lucky omen for my day when it begins with reading a perfect poem. Thank you Laure-Anne and Michael.
LikeLiked by 5 people
Thank you, Donna!
LikeLike
Laure-Anne, Your poetry and kindness have been guides through my own grief. I too had a cat. We leaned on each other, literally, for two years. And now to read this poem (I have read your original, also great), brings back a sense of how poetry and the love of companion animals may carry us along through loneliness. To celebrate the human/animal bonding with such a wise and carefully crafted poem performs wonders. Thanks to you, to Michael Simms for spotting and publishing works like this, and to a gang of appreciative readers. Enlivenment, if there is such a word.
LikeLiked by 5 people
Enlivenment. Exactly.
LikeLike
A deeply moving poem. The fact that it is a “re-vision” deepens it even further. Thank you for sharing Laure- poems on your site, Michael!
LikeLiked by 5 people
Thank YOU, Susie!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful: “tired of being the only living thing in the house with me now —
tired of how I need to hold her against me, too tight,”
LikeLiked by 5 people
I love this poem for its subtle understated beauty.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much there and not there all at once. Lovely.
LikeLiked by 5 people
Well-said, Hayden!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Absolutely gorgeous and so very moving. Thank you, Laure-Anne, Michael.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you, Rose Mary! You have been a steady influence at VP, offering insight and encouragement.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Even if our cat, our companion, hurries to escape into the night for a while we turn on the porch light and can be a bit content knowing that they will make all possible effort to return to us and will linger at the door demanding entry; a bit of hope. Lovely poem.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Well-said, Leo. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes—how perfectly the terms of togetherness flow through these lines as domesticants of unspoken necessity intertwine. Its about living one’s way into time’s unreducible elements—what’s missing is there as well. Such beautiful language that fulfills its title.
LikeLiked by 8 people
“What’s missing is there as well…” Perfect description of the power of understatement. Thank you, Sean.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“living one’s way into time’s unreducible elements.” That is perfectly stated.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A beautiful poem that puts everything into a perspective that says, “Yes, we can go on.”
LikeLiked by 3 people
Yes, we can go on. Thank you, Mandy.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A stunning poem, Laure-Anne. Once again, the best words, in the best order, flowing from your heart.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Perfectly said, Christine. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person