Stella Ann Nesanovich
Stella Ann Nesanovich is retired professor of English at McNeese State University, Lake Charles, Louisiana. She is the author of the chapbook A Brightness That Made
My Soul Tremble: Poems on the life of Hildegard of Bingen (1996). Her fiction has appeared in The Southern Review and was reprinted in Something in Common: Contemporary Louisiana Stories (LSU Press, 1990). Her poetry has appeared in several anthologies, including Uncommonplace: An Anthology of Contemporary Louisiana Poets (LSU Press, 1998) and Hurricane Blues: Poems About Katrina and Rita (Southeast Missouri State University, 2006), and in numerous journals and magazines. To learn more about Stella and read samples of her work, go to her website at http://nesanovich.com.
Vespers at Mount Angel
by Stella Ann Nesanovich
ISBN 1-883275-13-X (Xavier Review Press, 2004)
Price $10.95
Although this collection of poems deals with the daily stresses of living and dying,
Stella Nesanovich infuses them with a quiet intensity that lingers long after the
reader puts the book aside. Nesanovich does not burden the reader with showy
attempts to be literary, but speaks in an almost conversational tone that creates an
instant intimacy between her and the reader.
Aunt Thelma
Photographs from Florida vacations
show her reaching toward the Gulf,
one hand extended as if she were fishing
or holding a net—to fool viewers, she said.
She invented games while driving,
had us shout when spotting stoplights.
Her purse spilled like Vesuvius:
underwear, toothpaste, just in case—
like citizens of Pompeii, secrets
buried in ash—she couldn’t reach home
for the night. Aunt Stelma I called her,
for her name wouldn’t form on my tongue.
Her secret, a tumor sculpting organs
so huge her doctors sought to excavate.
Dying at fifty-four, she spurned gifts
of flowers. Too quickly they turned to dust.
Originally appeared in The Louisiana Review
Killing a Backyard Snake
I troughed the small snake
with murderous intent
through compost heaps, struck
again and again with a shovel
until the body severed:
the upper half lizard brown,
the under, pale as baby’s breath.
Even in death the mouth sawed
open and closed. I told
myself I had biblical
sanction, yet calling a priest
did not quickly free me.
Weeks I dreamed of innocents,
of snakes sliced by spades
centuries since Adam,
spilling sins of killers
who sought their own dark wills.
Now I pray forgiveness
and swear by the grave
of this fellow I stabbed
never again to splinter
or stomp with such haste.
Originally appeared in The MacGuffin
The Mystery of Persons
Sheaves of paper tucked in fists,
they war with wording, write scripts
that might be harvest:
themes contrasting versions
of Cinderella. None sees
how the tale has formed her,
if she will marry and grow rich,
he conquer as prince charming.
Grace submerged like coins in mud,
years may pass before they shine.
Tales unravel before the teller,
the girl both orphan and woman,
mysterious as Scheherazade.
Originally appeared in The Louisiana Review
The Creative Dance
In dance class we paired off,
one as sculptor, one clay—
the first to mold real flesh
however thought swayed.
One reclined an odalisque
worthy of Renoir or Goya.
Another posed Mercury—
foot reared, flight extended.
Our compliant legs and arms
relieved in graceful shapes.
Maybe that’s how God creates us—
every toe and fold and lid
whittled with curve of air
and others’ palms.
Originally appeared in The Xavier Review
Reprinted by permission of
Xavier Review Press from
Vespers at Mount Angel by Stella Ann Nesanovich. Copyright Stella Ann Nesanovich 2004.