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Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Late Afternoon Stroll on the Cliffs
As usual, Death sweetly slips her arm in mine—
& we take a deep breath from the eucalyptus breeze.
We both worked honestly at our jobs: all day Death
destroyed traffic with wailing ambulances while I killed
hours & lines on eight-&-a-half by eleven-inch pages.
We’re fast friends by now. Death much older of course,
but there’s no hierarchy between us: we’re both taking
a break from it all, glad to watch waves collapse on rocks
& pelicans dive-bomb fish. I try to be sensitive to Death’s
guilt: that whole pandemic disaster she can no longer
control. She’ll soon betray me too — like she will you.
I know. But today the gulls are silver angels etching
great cursive blessings in a perfect sky — so Death & I
make believe we believe that, & amble on.
~~~
Copyright © 2022 by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 15, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar’s recent books of poetry include Lately (Sungold Editions, 2024) and These Many Rooms (Four Way Books, 2019). She served as Poet Laureate of Santa Barbara until April 2021.
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“today the gulls are silver angels etching
great cursive blessings in a perfect sky” . . . .
I’ll keep looking for this . . . hope to see it one of these days. Gorgeous. It makes me want to get up & go outside, away from this addicting screen that serves me amazing poetry. Thank you. A pleasure . . .
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Thanks, Mike!
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I met death too – and she is kind. In Spanish death is indeed female, not male. This is a gorgeous poem, Laure-Anne!
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Best to make Death a friend, since we’re going to spend a long time with it. Thanks, Laure-Anne, for reminding me in a beautiful way. Charles ________________________________
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Exquisite. It balances right on the knife’s edge between resignation and real acceptance.
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yes!
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What a treasure Laure-Anne’s poems are, this one especially.
Strangely, I just finished writing a poem this morning about the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, have been fooling with it for years now. Then I turned to Laure-Anne’s poem, as a psychic cleanser, as hers always are for me, and instantly realized I need to set the two poems in dialogue before considering mine done. Death as a companion vs. death as cruel intruder…..
Peace.
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Beautiful!
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No other poet will have death “breathing,” let alone inhaling with her “the eucalyptus breeze,” that healing scent. Who else could or would allow death’s arm in hers and recognize death’s guilt. I love this sonnet very much. Plus it takes me to my spirit’s home, the Northern California coast. Thank you Laure-Ann!
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I love when a poem helps me see and feel in a new, deeper way. Thank you, Laure-Anne.
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Superb. As always.
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Beautiful. Death has become a companion to me, also, and is involved in my memoir. For me, he is more a joker, companion, goofball, and slightly menacing.
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Death as a goofball. I love it.
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We all walk together in this one. And I miss those pelicans and gulls! Marvelous poem, Laure-Anne.
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Such a beautiful poem and portrayal of a relationship we and Death can and should share. Like Sean writes, we work out a kind of a mutual understanding. The partnership is broken when evil humans and bad luck intervene. Let’s all hope, like in Laure-Anne’s poem, we may barter, banter and bargain and at the appropriate time embrace Death as a friend and healer.
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Thanks, HC, as surgeon you must have had to come to terms with life and death every day.
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Most of it and the worst of it in Vietnam.
With my hometown patients, especially those who had time to contemplate during their terminal illness—and weren’t wracked with the guilt-thinking of heaven or hell—they, as Laure-Anne so beautifully wrote, were, “…fast friends….no hierarchy between…”
This beautifully sobering poem really makes us think, doesn’t it?
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What a marvelous poem. Of course the imagry that others have pointed out. Also, it’s pacing. Laure-Anne is so marvelous with the pacing of her poems. They expand and contract, like breathing. And this poem so tenderly shows how each day, each moment of life we have is a kind of reprieve, a time where the gulls’s flying make “great cursive blessings in a perfect sky — so Death & I make believe we believe that.” We living believing that blessing moment to moment until that friend betrays us.
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You’ve described the beauty of this poem very well, Michael. Thank you.
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When I read one of Laure-Anne’s poems, it always feels a little as though I have stepped onto a magical path … one that will lead me exactly where I need to go. So much to glory in here, and other readers have gestured to images I love, but I may be most grateful for the fact that Death is female in this poem, when the habitual image — or at least the Grim Reaper many of us in English-speaking cultures were introduced to — seems mostly to be male. I can’t conclude without taking note of the genius of this phrase, “I try to be sensitive to Death’s / guilt …” How much richness one of Laure-Anne’s poems adds to my day!
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Thanks, Annie. I feel exactly the same about Laure-Anne’s poems, but I could not have said it as well as you have.
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A stroll with Death, ‘fast friends’ and ‘no hierarchy between us’. What a profound expression of ease in relationship with Death this poet has given us. May this poem offer some comfort to those who fear the inevitable approach of life’s ending. Grateful to you Laure-Anne.
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Yes, the poem is wise and beautiful.
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Such a lovely and powerful sonnet. “We both worked honestly at our jobs…” is stunning. Once again: Brava, Laure-Anne!
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A gladsome wistfulness casts these lovely lines, propels me to the setting in the garden of its effects that also live in the poets heart. Death is ever present and as we age and the horizon draws ever closer, one begins to understand it’s not going away. What can we do but at last make friends and invite it in to our thoughts like the hungry stranger still waiting at the door after so many days, as happens in this beautiful poem.
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