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Liz Rosenberg

Fall 2005

Sex at Seventeen

By Liz Rosenberg

In the Boy's King Arthur Legends they were always describing how the knight's sword shone, and the jeweled swords, the gleaming of precious gold tips and silver hilts; —and I […]

Fall 2005

What Use

By Liz Rosenberg

What use is a husband's kiss in late winter? Nothing; means nothing you say; one warm cheek laid against mine. But your lips and fingertips stay cool when we are […]

Winter 1999

Desire

By Liz Rosenberg

My phalaenopsis orchid trembles when I step into the room, quivering like a butterfly in its stem, so that I wonder if it feels me coming yards away. The blossoms […]

Winter 1999

Sunburn

By Liz Rosenberg

A friend compares it to a sunburn—the body heals, he says, but still remembers. If my skin should remember you! In seven years there will not be one cell of […]

Winter 1999

The Unmentionable

By Liz Rosenberg

Let us agree to draw down the shades, be sure the doors are locked, so as not to see the elderly couple, knock-kneed, romping like horses on the bed— the […]

Summer/Fall 1997

These Hands

By Liz Rosenberg

Love, let me go. Or don't let me go. I don't know how to hold you hard enough to make you happy, how to be held so I dissolve like […]

Summer/Fall 1997

Kisses

By Liz Rosenberg

I have been kissed to the point of madness, my mouth is swallowing up my heart. Kisses flying like birds from one perch to another, deep winged kisses, snowy kisses, […]

Summer/Fall 1997

I Will Not Be Moved

By Liz Rosenberg

Love, that moves the sun and the other stars.                 DANTE Well, I will sit on this porch step and I will not move. Though my neighbors march up and down […]

Summer/Fall 1997

Want

By Liz Rosenberg

I want the right side of your brain, somebody said, when you are dead, when you donate your organs, leave me that hemisphere—who was that? I ask myself, hoping it […]