This woman impresses the Hell out of me. I won’t say that very often, so you know it’s real.
Laura A. Lord pens such smart and beautiful poetry. And she produces it so quickly. (Keep in mind, my collection from last year was from the span of 15 years or so.) Not only is she a beautiful soul, a writer of such skill, a devoted mother and wife, and she’s a graphic designer. Did you see The Reverie Journal‘s beautiful layout? She did that and she’ll be designing the magazines.
Oh…and the covers of all of her books. Ms. Laura A. Lord, could you please stop being so awesome? The rest of us are just trying to keep up. I’m reading her latest release Of Roots and Wreckage and I am absolutely slayed. There’s a deep-seated strength, a snarl, a quiet desperation, and softened eyes gleaming with tears in the pages of this collection. I wanted to give you guys an opportunity to learn more about her, to check out her poetry, and to just feel this.
(By the way–can you just look at this glorious cover?)
In Of Roots and Wreckage, Laura A. Lord moves us with the imagery that has come to define her poetry. Whether looking into the brutal truths of where one calls home to moments of reveling in the joy and pain of an aging body – Lord is to exploring in raw honesty the smallest of moments and describes with startling clarity the mysteries that move and break us.
Want to win a free copy of Laura’s Of Roots and Wreckage? Enter Laura’s Goodread’s Giveaway Here!
Her newest collection, Of Roots and Wreckage, focuses heavily on where she grew up. Split into three sections, this collection explores the ideas of “roots” and hometowns, of people and change, of aging and death.
Here is a selection from Of Roots and Wreckage:
Field of Poppies
I was thirteen when I watched
the blue of your eyes
take on a strange hue.
The roots of some storm brewing
right there below your lashes,
clumped with cheap mascara
like the gnarled ends of an apple tree.
You paced the bedroom –
speedy steps across twelve feet.
The inklings of your maelstrom
were as audible as
my grandmother’s tap, tap, tap
on the conjoining wall
and I wonder if she heard your thunder.
I loved your nightgown –
a frivolous scrap of blue
bouncing around the edges of your thighs,
as you delivered an epilogue
of literary proportions.
I knew this was the end
or the first of apocalyptic beginnings.
You tossed the slim shining metal
in the air like one big
piece of WalMart brand confetti,
sucked in your lip at the corner
until it turned almost as crimson
as the first cut – a thin line
breaking free of your porcelain skin.
I was picking at the dried bits
of yellow wax on my leg –
the remains of some old
Christmas cookie candle
and when I had cleared the field,
you made a furrow with the tip.
An explosion of poppies bloomed there.
So, you curled up beside me
and when I tried to catch
the soft petals as they dripped,
you kissed my hand,
said, We are women.
They’ll never know.
I was thirteen and my grandmother tapped on the wall.
© Laura A. Lord 2015
You can find this author and poet in all these wonderful places!
Laura A. Lord is the author of numerous collections of vignettes and poetry and one awesome children’s book about a T-Rex screwing up her entire day. It’s absolutely a true story.
Laura’s work has been featured in The Beacon, The Collegian, Whirl with Word, Tipsy Lit, Precipice, Scary Mommy, The Powder Room, The Reverie Journal, and Massacre Magazine.