A Poem By Laure-Anne Bosselaar, from Small Gods of Grief


Listen to this: rationalism--
what an ugly word, heady with the sagacious
rational, insufferably suffixed with ism.

I ban it from my vocabulary,
from the only thesaurus I trust:
the abridged one I protect when I make

a fist against my chest, the same fist
I brandish to the fourteen slats of the blinds
I slammed down just now

to stop staring at that immutable
mountain in which I know how to find
consolation, but I don't want it tonight.

I petition to be inconsolable
for today's fourteen sorrows--one per slat:

for a cloud at dawn tearing its heart out
trying to obscure the sun;

for that beech branch on Spring Street
whipped to shreds by each passing truck;

for the gardens I planted, then left;

for the photography of my dead friend
buckling more each day on the fridge door;

for the three times I stumbled today;

for my lubberly body,

the shame of it;

for the fist inside my chest

and for raising it, still, against my father;

for his shame of me,

for the shame of him
in me;

for spurning consolation
with fourteen slammed slats;

for another day of dying

and for welcoming this--against all reason.


Trisha said...

It's been a while since I visited your blog. I was hooked, during law school, because of your sheer talent as a writer and because of how you openly shared painful pieces of your past.

So it's ironic how when I stopped by today, it's not your writing, but someone else's that reminded me why a daily visit to The Stone's Colossal Dream is certainly worth my time. Bosselaar's poem is a gem.

Thanks for sharing. I intend to frequent your blog more occasionally.

Collin Kelley said...

Laure-Anne is brilliant.

Tania Rochelle said...

Thank you, Trisha. You made my day a little better.

loranneke said...

Thank you, dear Tania, for posting a poem of mine -- great heart that you are!

May 2009 bless you in seven thousand and seven ways...

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