Rosanna Warren Poems

You stand in the brook, mud smearing
your forearms, a bloodied mosquito on your brow,
your yellow T-shirt dampened to your chest
...

It was a way of punishing the house, setting it ablaze
in ruddy, golden flames; smoke
in billows up the front stairs; walls
...

In your lace ruff you resemble a giant
snowflake or a spider web
pearled with dew. What poets you catch
...

She said she sang very close to the mike
to change the space. And I changed the space
by striding down the Boulevard Raspail at dusk in tight jeans
...

When his dogs leapt on Actaeon, he
cried (did he cry out?)—He flung
his arm to command, they tore his hand
...

Kitty Goes Kommando and the Goldman Rats — Phooey!
That blue scaffolding holds up the sky. Who did we think
we were padlocking in, or out? Give me that huge
...