Roselyn Elliott

  • Eel River Meditation
     
    Above the Eel River,
    a concrete bridge: every summer
    we plied humid afternoons
    with hickory bark canoes.

    Lying on the sloped bank
    we paddled between
    walnuts and hickories—
    we we […]

  • Malady
     
    He’s never been sick before
    skin warm and ill-fitting, moist as he sinks into me,
    that exhausted root for comfort and the fear that
    he’ll be declining soon.
    Children know to seek this oath from thei […]

  • Charybdis and the River
     
    Do you hear the gurgling river?
    All the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen
    in their special dance, choreographed,
    washing memories clean,
    liquid fingers wearing grooves
    into the […]

  • I Bought Them
     
    I bought them,
    two big books,
    fat with two lifetimes of poems,

    not so much to read them,
    which, over a long time, as is meant, I will do,
    but just to look at,

    their bigness,
    heavy as […]

  • Mom Wants to Talk Football
    On the gridiron of family life, she and I stood
    the sidelines, flanking the husband and father
    who, fourth and goal in the waning minutes,
    always called his own number.

    She, the […]

  • How to Grow Wild
     
    Vision failing, she feels the leaves
    looking for butterfly
    weed, a seedling from her
    greenhouse for me to take, add
    to my efforts to flower
    a field. Cup plant, sweet […]

  • The Jumping Off Place
    Josephine Hopper’s comment on husband Edward’s painting, Rooms by the Sea, 1951
     
    Azure waves float two rooms
               a door opens
                  […]

  • The heavy, punishing rains have stopped for now, and I step out onto the sun-warmed deck facing our back yard. A third of the space is now a lake, and in the center of this six-inch deep water stand our bird […]

  • My Grandfather’s Garage, 1966
     
    Steel licenses, galvanized,
    nailed to the wall, black Virginia
    plates, rusted and dented,

    years spanning a life
    on this farm, his World War,
    to the second, his so […]

  • Roselyn Elliott wrote a new post 6 years ago

    Promontory
     
    At the overlook, we could see four states
    If the fog had not rested its elephantine
    Rump upon the conifers. We can barely
    See each other, much less the road
    Switchbacking down the side of […]

  • Roselyn Elliott wrote a new post 6 years ago

    3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest

    Patina
     
    The things you forget are the stupid verbal confetti of old love letters,
    the weight of ancient matters settling the scales of justice around yo […]

  • Roselyn Elliott wrote a new post 6 years ago

    Jennifer Sutherland is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest
     
    An Elegant Variation
    One quiet Sunday we drove south on silver-leafed Charles Street,
    ducked into one of the gingerbread wa […]

  • Roselyn Elliott wrote a new post 6 years ago

    2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest

    mi gemela

    i can hear avocado
    trees in the backyard,
    the hum of abuela’s
    sewing machine
    in the kitchen.

    the plastic chairs
    poke the fat of our […]

  • Ferment
     
    Orchard in February.
    Branches, matted as hair, litter the rows after pruning.
    Soil, strewn with old fruitfall,
    soaks in last season’s rancid sun
    seeped from these gnawed globes:
    Ambrosias, Au […]

  • Swimming in Akumal
     
    You could learn to live here
    without ever measuring time
    in linear seconds or distance
    in the miles we journey.
    Everything here is cyclical
    and circular like the half moon
    bay we […]

  • Sorrow
     
    Sometimes I think I own sorrow
    like the man who parades his macaw
    up and down the shopping street,
    shit on his back, smiling. The bird
    is sweet and talkative, but
    his wings are clipped. Sorrow […]

  • You’ve gotten over the idea that writing poetry is only for strange people who carry around moleskin notebooks with ribbon bookmarks. You may have even admitted to people you’ve met in airports, knowing you will […]

  • First Dog: A Love Song
     
    You didn’t even want it. You said it was much too nervous,
    inappropriate for us who had never owned a dog,
    and wrong for our cold climate. It would have to wear a sweater,
    we would be […]

  • Reno and Smiley in Verona
     
    Walking not far from Juliet’s graffitied house,
    a window gives its music to the alley below—
    Appalachian spring tripping on love.
    I hear I Wouldn’t Change You if I Could. […]

  • From Ice and Dust
     
    All summer long, a comet
    streaks, star blown and cold,
    as I walk, hollow boned
    thin ribbed, a scarecrow loosed

    upon the night, trailing cotton.
    How elastic the hands once,
    thick with […]

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