Laure-Anne Bosselaar
FOR MY SON
on his 30th birthday
I sit against the scarred trunk of an oak.
The sun barely winnows through its branches.
Beyond a lit spot, small as a new-born’s fist,
a twig quivers, then arcs toward light.
What caused such languid inclination
makes its way down the leaf: a tiny snail,
gold as corn. For an instant, they sway, lit
and in utter balance, then, in a deep bow,
the leaf releases its weight on earth and curls
back into the shade — the vitreous path
of that instant now glazed in its center.
Mathieu, if nature’s cruelties know no limits,
neither do the boundaries of its grace.
I give thanks for you.
This poem appeared in SMALL GODS OF GRIEF, BOA Editions, 2001.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar authored five poetry collections, is the recipient a Pushcart Prize, and the James Dickey Poetry Prize. She edited five anthologies & served as Santa Barbara’s Poet Laureate (2019 to 2021). Lately, New & Selected Poems, came out from Sungold Editions in 2024.