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A Love Letter to Say There Is No Love
Maria Williams-Russell's debut chapbook is a dark and sometimes surreal collection where domestic life is not only lonely but buzzes with potential harm. Disillusioned, the poems offer language and images of home, motherhood and romantic love that come out of a resigned duress and which include bees, bats, car accidents, war, and strangers knocking at the door. Even so, the speaker of the poems finds ways to "...when the men walk through the house/ I pretend my body is the frame/ and they a flock of birds/ caught for a moment in the rafters."
- GenresPoetry
30 pages, Paperback
First published July 30, 2010
About the author
Maria Williams-Russell
1 book6 followersMaria Williams-Russell is a poet and college writing teacher from western Massachusetts. She is the author of A Love Letter to Say There Is No Love.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
July 5, 2012
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
HOW WE LIVE
War sits across from me in the tub.
He has not said a word, but fountains
spit through his blurred teeth
and that incessant dark grinning
make it impossible to read.
I always retreat, place the damp page
between me and cracks in the porcelain.
Or slip beneath to listen for intruders in the pipes.
We are married many long years now.
He has seen me shiver and pace
and raise a knife against his camouflage.
Some days, it feels he might tire of me
and then I am even more a widow.
Other days, I think he pours my tea.
MORNING PRAYER
Cartoons have taken over the house.
The children and I avoid
the bombs and dropping anvils
by wishing for a pet.
We are singular in our dream
and disappear inside the mayhem
by believing we are rubber
chew toys or long balls of yarn.
We have even dared go as far
as to sneak a small dish outside the door.
Dear Lord, send a bird for me
and for the children
something with a broad back.
If anything comes,
let it know we bleed.
HOW WE LIVE
War sits across from me in the tub.
He has not said a word, but fountains
spit through his blurred teeth
and that incessant dark grinning
make it impossible to read.
I always retreat, place the damp page
between me and cracks in the porcelain.
Or slip beneath to listen for intruders in the pipes.
We are married many long years now.
He has seen me shiver and pace
and raise a knife against his camouflage.
Some days, it feels he might tire of me
and then I am even more a widow.
Other days, I think he pours my tea.
MORNING PRAYER
Cartoons have taken over the house.
The children and I avoid
the bombs and dropping anvils
by wishing for a pet.
We are singular in our dream
and disappear inside the mayhem
by believing we are rubber
chew toys or long balls of yarn.
We have even dared go as far
as to sneak a small dish outside the door.
Dear Lord, send a bird for me
and for the children
something with a broad back.
If anything comes,
let it know we bleed.
August 5, 2010
Surreal, haunting, and beautiful. A quick, satisfying read.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews