Category Archives: Michelle Brittan Rosado

Michelle Brittan Rosado Palmar Grasp Reflex I My index finger against his palm and the world inside it closes. A flash of neurology. A game we playin the early pastel months until the reflex disappears. We separate instinct from free will, the gray morning  from the idea of May in Los Angeles. Life, for now, is without seasons—somewhere Continue reading “Michelle Brittan Rosado – Palmar Grasp Reflex I”

Michelle Brittan Rosado Emergency Haiku operating room:no windows, just the round lightlike the last mirror Author’s note: The poems in this series all use the image of a window as their starting point, some in the title itself and others more peripherally. I’ve been thinking of this symbol a lot lately — as a portalContinue reading “Michelle Brittan Rosado – Emergency Haiku”

Michelle Brittan Rosado Pastoral with Floor-to-Ceiling Window of a Metro Area Airport Approaching the glass that reveals what lies ahead as much asmy own reflected face growing unfamiliarthen familiar again, the men toss suitcases into the bellyof the plane while I look on, though in the dream—or is thismemory—I can’t rememberif I’m returning or leaving, if this isContinue reading “Michelle Brittan Rosado – Pastoral with Floor-to-Ceiling Window of a Metro Area Airport”

Michelle Brittan Rosado Picture Window at the Beginning of Shutdown, March 2020 the three-year-old follows with his eyes the garbage trucks traveling left to right hauling the last of our moving boxes and the mail carrier’s white van idling across the street and the construction crew on schedule to peel back the street down to its striations  of rock and concreteContinue reading “Michelle Brittan Rosado – Picture Window at the Beginning of Shutdown, March 2020”

Michelle Brittan Rosado Evening Walk, 2020 The night gardener’s watering               concentrates on the roses’ shadows. A coyote, starved               by summer, lowers his head to the gutter.              An invisible constellationof points measuring six feet               extends from everything:the web spun from windowsill               to banister, flickering under the porch light. Author’s note: The poems in this series all use the image of a window as theirContinue reading “Michelle Brittan Rosado – Evening Walk, 2020”