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May Professor Spotlight: Roseann Lloyd


Roseann Lloyd

Profession:

Poet, UST English Professor

Published Poetry Books:

Because of the LightWar Baby ExpressTap Dancing for Big Mom

Why She Writes:

"Writing poetry combines thinking, feelings, physicality, musicality;
in a way that nothing else in the world gives!"




Why I Fell In Love With The Tropics

 

Because of the light
the broad expanses of light
over the hazy green mountains

Because it's dark at home in the winter

Because I love to wear purple and red and turquoise blue
in a country in love with black

Because of a first memory: my small hands-
fingers tracing the curly vines
on Grandma's tooled leather purse

Because I live in the reticent North

Desperadoes always
head South

Because of the light
the broad expanses of clear light
over the hazy blue mountains

Because Gramma went to Mexico to see Grandpa-
he worked on the railroad in the Depression-
and she was a taster, she just had to taste everything
and never got sick

Because a lover brought me here

Because my name Lloyd
means gray in Welsh-
it needs the balance
of magenta and fuchsia roses

Because I was housebound
for too many years

Because of the shifting expanses of light
falling across the courtyards

The light

Because Gramma talked to everybody
no matter where she was-her legacy to me

Because Guatemalans hug and pat each other
on the back, Buen dia

Because I talked with a Catchikel woman
and sketched Arabic arches
and discovered the Åttebladros pattern on the blue
and gold ceramic tiles
on the underside of the portico

Because Gramma loved the gardens of Lake Xochimilco
Take care what kind of beauty you love!
A second family legacy I choose

Because all of us evolved in the tropics, our bodies'
first home

Because the Welsh fit in
wherever they go
and leave no trace of their path

Because it's dark at home in the winter

Because of the broad expanses of blue light
over the mountains

Because of the light
I already said that

The light

Because of the Light Cover

Becoming A Writer

 

          my brother the artist dead of an overdose at age 21

they opened the earth and put him in
his gravestone     a slab on my heart     my voice box
bolted shut

desparate to get death off my chest
the dreaded thought     the end of our family
I followed him into the grave

took notes
there was no stopping it     once it started
the rush of feelings     the insistent

search for truth this day's
truth     the pleasure
of the black ink pen in my hands

family secrets spilled out of me
like so many missing socks
I no longer needed to mate

my brother reached out his hand
raised me up from the shabby couch
smiled his bad boy     rabbi     smile

there's an empty place at the family table
the artist's place you sit there now
you might as well enjoy it for me

grass grew high around his grave
I walked out       into it
it was soft and green tempting under my feet

the birch meadow had a yellow aura
Brother     I said my voice
riding my breath     with ease

O     loosened tongue
O     naked feet
O     grave       that is a door

Roseann Lloyd Homepage

Copyright © 2004 Renee Kelly