Rose Auslander | The Piltdown Review

Rose Auslander

What an embarrassment, what kind of grace

What an embarrassment, what kind of grace

Thanking the tall maple over on Sea Street, it was or it wasn’t me hearing waves crash in the high branches.
The Foreigners

The Foreigners

They came from a shtetl they swore didn’t deserve a name. The youngest kept finding stray stones in their pockets.
On reading “7-Year-Old Girl Starves in U.S. Border Patrol Custody”

On reading “7-Year-Old Girl Starves in U.S. Border Patrol Custody”

I heap my family’s plates as if that would feed her. But who can chew? Anyone can smell the whitethorn acacia.
His Sculpture

His Sculpture

O to just wash it clean, white as the shelf it sits on, that thing he’d put up on a pedestal—a misshapen bicycle seat, swollen coffee bean.
<i>Ship of Fools:</i> Surviving Fragment of Triptych

Ship of Fools: Surviving Fragment of Triptych

And what remains of us? A plateful of cherries spilled, half-eaten, a breast forgotten, dangling from a torn bodice.