Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Evening
Gone. Another day gone. Its chest-
shredding tragedies or frivolous whims equally
scavenged by dusk. Soon the wind will rest
in the messy trellis of my tree.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Godwit Beach
Remember? It was late in the afternoon,
we walked a while along these limestone cliffs,
under the silver ghosts of eucalyptus trees.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: After a Night of Rain
So I stop my busy nothingnesses & sit a while
at my good table, by the white bowl
edged golden by the sun.
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.
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.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Then, you stop
Then, you stop weeping. Lift your face from your hands.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Clouds Heave
His cat mourned better than I, lying
on her side for weeks across his room’s threshold
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Some evenings
Some evenings, he would hide his face in his hands
for a few seconds —
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.
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
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
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Arroyo Burro Beach
Look at me, writing circles around what I must face:
The man I love is dead.
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
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
Vox Populi 