Elizabeth Oxley's first poetry collection, After April Rain, contains twenty-nine poems and nine illustrations that chart the course of one “good girl” navigating landscapes of “long fields of skin,” a drugstore “temple on [an] asphalt mount," “the weather in my grandmother’s living room…before her lungs rattle—not thunder / rolling closer but sunshine mobilizing to depart;” and a house, where outside “pink blooms erupt like wounds.”

New York State Poet Laureate Alicia Ostriker says of Oxley's poetry: I don't know how Elizabeth Oxley manages to write poems that are fresh and dewy, and cruel and edgy, at the same time—but she does. She is keenly readable. More power to her.

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Elizabeth Oxley is a master's degree candidate in Creative Writing at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland. Originally from central Pennsylvania in the U.S., her undergraduate years were spent at Franklin University Switzerland, Brown University, and Georgetown University. Elizabeth's poems and writing have appeared in literary journals, newspapers, and magazines. See below for sample poems, or say hello via the contact form. 

PUBLICATIONS

The Banyan Review

"The Ant Queen's Children"

"Pacifist"

"Shy Wife"

Crosswinds Poetry

"Impeachment"

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Poetry Illuminated,

A Project of the Mill Valley Public Library

"Driving West, I Eat Swedish Fish"

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Frontier Poetry

"Expelling Venus" & "After April Rain"

Motherscope Magazine

"Underwater Photography"

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Boneshaker: A Bicycling Almanac

"Revolutions"

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Ruminate

"Alpaca"

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Peregrine

"Women"

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The Poetry Review

"Biracial"

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Mary Jane's Farm

"A Reason to Crow"

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Susquehanna Life

"Susquehanna Mine"

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Boulder Weekly

"You Could Smell Humanity"

"Cuba at the Crossroads"

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The Colorado Independent

"Poetry Lesson After the Las Vegas Shooting"

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A LITTLE BIT OF POETRY

A LOVE STORY

I remember it vividly: my childhood bedroom painted tutti-frutti pink. I don't recall why I chose that color. Me—a quiet, book-loving girl—next to all of that bold, confident pink. I spent a great deal of my time separated from it, sitting inside my walk-in closet, hanging out with a stack of books and a reading lamp. I kept company with Ramona Quimby, stories like Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. I dreamed of becoming a writer.

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I studied literature in college but could never figure out how to manifest my writing dream. One after another, things got in the way. I got in my way. I'd almost given up by the time I met John. 

My neighbor in a western mountain town, John was an atmospheric physicist and accomplished poet. He suggested we meet to talk about poetry. Our poetry. I still don't know why he thought I had any to my name. I loved writing and reading, yes. But poetry? It was unfamiliar terrain. I found it daunting, even a little terrifying.

We set a date to get together. I procrastinated writing. At last, I sat down at my kitchen table and tried my hand at a poem. I felt like a fraud. Soon, however, something else took over. I felt pulled into poetry's tide. I wrote one small poem and then several more. In the days that followed, I couldn't get enough. It felt like poetry was calling, and I had no choice but to answer. It felt a lot like love. 

Since that time, I've been fortunate to make friends of other poets. I've also benefited from the generous instruction of gifted workshop instructors. While I primarily write poetry, I'm also saying hello to fiction. Whatever form my writing takes, it's the mystery of language I adore. If you do, too, please drop me a line below. I'd love to hear from you.

LOVE, ELIZABETH

SAY HELLO