A Brooklyn Poem

Funny — now that we’ve been up in Cape Cod over a half year, my Brooklyn poems are making their way into the world.  If you haven’t seen it yet, click here for “Dead Moon, Brooklyn” — a finalist in Tupelo Quarterly’s contest this year:  http://www.tupeloquarterly.com/dead-moon-brooklyn-by-rose-auslander/


The Dolphin in the Gowanus

Poetry Month seems so long ago . . . for more poetry, it’s time to pre-order my new book, The Dolphin in the Gowanus.  Pre-order deadline August 1.  To help support a small poet — and find out what happens to the dolphin — just click here.  Thank you!!!


Poems Dedicated to Malaysia Airlines Flight 370

Warren Wilson
Warren Wilson

For National Poetry Month 2014, I posted a poem a day (or so), dedicated to Malaysia Airlines Flight 370.  Written while working on my MFA at Warren Wilson.  Read from the bottom up . . .


Here, the Search

Leaking, invisibly
an evaporating cloud.


I Am

Where you are
carried past
you, past

you are. I am cold. I am dark. I am
you, falling. I am taking you in-

side. I am carrying you
under the ocean


Ghazel of Shards

Dear ones, might a sign appear, if only a shard?
Even if sheered from nothing, a shard.

50 days slipped safely past
you who have disappeared—bequeath a shard.

Wherever you flew, wherever you fell
Dear lost ones, just a shard.

Your spectral lines, your memories, even your
fear clinging somewhere. However sharp, a shard.

Do you remember us?
We wait here. Even for a shard.


If the Sky Shuts Its Eyes

The clouds will start turning black. We should not expect
to see down. Through

comes nowhere. Yet someone
will expect everything. Maybe plan it. Or just
won’t care

if the co-pilot picks up the phone.
If anyone hears.


When You Ran Out of Air

Sky let you fall.
Ocean swallowed you.

Ocean took you in.
Sky set you free.

Sky let you.
Ocean swallowed.


They Say

I only have brothers. But when the last night
tears loose, flies

blind through the smoke beyond this
realm of air, my sister

will sit with me. Will stitch
ruffles in my ashes, comb my hair, part

the ether between this world and all that —
pull me through properly. She will.