Elizabeth Romero: Love
And suddenly she realized there would always be those who laughed at love, who sneered at it, who mocked it, tried to make it something fleeting and negligible like an … Continue reading
Elizabeth Romero: Carrying a Sign
Leaves on the wind circle in the air Like emissaries from another world Frantic warnings No one heeds them, they Push toward their usual destinations With their everyday faces … Continue reading
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
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
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
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
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
Elizabeth Romero: When Mothers Are Mentioned
I think of you of course
Though I knew you so little
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
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
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
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
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
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
