Poet of the Week: Laura Swearingen-Steadwell

Print Friendly, PDF & Email


he lifts my grandmother’s body

a sheaf of reeds
he picked himself, cattails
rustling in the wind

he carries her

as though he meant to make something
useful, to weave a basket,
to give those bones the benefit
of new intention.

this is what they mean
when they say good man: they mean
a love strong enough to smile
as though he could lift her anywhere,
carry her down the aisle

with my father
and the other white-gloved men.


Laura Swearingen-Steadwell’s Poets Tour Profile