Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature: over 400,000 monthly users

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Complaint About Missing Friends after Ten Months of the Pandemic

Verlaine threw pail after pail after
cold water pail on the gravel under Rimbaud’s
windows, to cool the air as he slept.

September 6, 2021 · 2 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage

I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.

August 18, 2021 · 6 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Then, you stop

Then, you stop weeping. Lift your face from your hands.

May 24, 2021 · 3 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Clouds Heave

His cat mourned better than I, lying
on her side for weeks across his room’s threshold

April 12, 2021 · 2 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Some evenings

Some evenings, he would hide his face in his hands
for a few seconds —

March 22, 2021 · 4 Comments

Vox Populi: You are invited

You are invited to attend a reading by some of the most talented poets in the country. The time is 8pmET Tuesday, March 2.

March 1, 2021 · 4 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: I was twenty then

The glint of those stares —
a flash of mica — offered to me &
just like that, I felt my loneliness shatter

February 14, 2021 · 3 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: The empty room I loved

I was free, I was twenty. I fell wholly &
forever in love every week. I was hungry for life

December 2, 2020 · 6 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Arroyo Burro Beach

Look at me, writing circles around what I must face:
The man I love is dead.

October 26, 2020 · 6 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: So, how are you?

So, how are you? friends ask, all kindness & concern,
heads cocked, eyes locked in mine.
&, just like that, I’m his again:
his wife, his widow

September 9, 2020 · 4 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: There was a Room in Antwerp

There was a room in Antwerp I loved so much
I never filled it with books, a bed, or a table.
It was alive with its own clarity

August 3, 2020 · 4 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: On My Walk to the Hospital, Death

Death in the fog, all silver
& grisaille as it wreathes
& muffles children in the park.

March 4, 2020 · 1 Comment

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Stillbirth

I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.

February 17, 2020 · 3 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Man at the Museum of Modern Art

Why do I follow him — what
is it that makes me do that, often, in streets or
subways even, getting off before my stop
to follow a man, woman, couple?

June 12, 2019 · Leave a comment

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