This afternoon, I saw (heard) wonderful poet Laure-Anne Bosselaar read at Georgia Tech. As always, she was stunning in all ways--beautiful, warm, inspiring.
Here's a poem she read today, from her most recent book, A New Hunger:
Garage Sale
I sold her bed for a song.
A song of yearning like an orphan’s.
Or the one knives carve into bread.
But the un-broken bread
song too. For the song that a river
sings to the ferryman’s oars — with
that dread in it.
For a threadbare tune: garroted,
chest-choked, cheap. A sparrow’s,
beggar’s, a foghorn’s call.
For the kind of song only morning
can slap on love-stained sheets —
that’s what I sold my mother’s
bed for. The one she died in. Sold it
for a song.
4 comments:
she's going to be at the Atlanta launch party of Limp Wrist Magazine.
Who's NOT?
Wait. That didn't come out right. At all. And I have a class in 45 seconds. Can I ask for redemption without being in the least bit redeemable?
I just meant that I was going to try to go, not that it was such a pedestrian event or, ironically, that it was so unimportant or.
forget it. im sorry.
Beautiful poem.
I've got an L-A poem up, too. She was so brilliant. Good to see you there, T.Ro.
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