Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Elizabeth Romero: Perspective

The woman who lived here before me was Spanish. I have found her attempts to battle the roaches pasted under the heater and sink, have swept dried beans and rice … Continue reading

August 29, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Face in the Mirror

I have nothing to give you. Nothing is so marked that it cannot cheat you By its own nature and pass through your hands Like fairy money.   I stand … Continue reading

August 6, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: As They Really Were

I want everybody here: The living and the dead. Not the dead as you might think: Rotted and smelling of the grave. Nor even as they were at the end … Continue reading

July 11, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Debt

If I could be half-blind with reverie, or bathed breast-deep in seas of lives gone by, perhaps I could express all that you gave to me, or whisper worlds into … Continue reading

June 13, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Summer Afternoon

At the furthest point there are clouds And more clouds and then the hill All crunchy green, then buildings Nearer and nearer, perfectly factual Dark empty windows and the flats … Continue reading

June 4, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: When Mothers Are Mentioned

I think of you of course Though I knew you so little   I think of the time I knocked you down You were drunk and I was angry It … Continue reading

March 8, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Things Without Substance

I walked home from work last night My bones felt too big for my skin The streets were deserted It was my birthday and I wished for love As usual … Continue reading

February 12, 2018 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Romero: Blue Willow

Cooking was something I learned to do well. This was a chicken roasted golden; I carved the leg and thigh huddled like a plump comma. The fork slipped. The piece … Continue reading

January 25, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Birth

The next day she got up because of a dream. The railroad cars were loaded with pale lumber in the sun and all around were green-gold trees. On the table … Continue reading

January 3, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Doors

The door to the apartment closes with a sound like this: Well? Car doors sound like this: So! Then the sound of distance your mind stretches to measure. There are … Continue reading

December 18, 2017 · 2 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: End of the Day

Let’s say I’m someone. Let’s say I’m empty as a pitcher, Discordant as traffic, human as an alley cat, Stiff-legged and torn-eared.   Let’s say you’re someone. Let’s say you … Continue reading

December 5, 2017 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Can’t You Feel It?

After supper tonight I watched a movie about a maid in the ‘Twenties who was hanged because she killed the man who raped her. Then I went down to the … Continue reading

November 27, 2017 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Romero: A Day in Thread City

(In 1982, in Willimantic, CT, the thread mill closed             throwing thousands out of work.)   Late August and through the open windows, warm Spanish syllables round and sweet as … Continue reading

November 6, 2017 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Debt

If I could be half-blind with reverie, or bathed breast-deep in seas of times gone by, perhaps I could express all that you gave to me, or whisper worlds into … Continue reading

October 16, 2017 · Leave a comment

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