Biography of Cecilia Woloch
Cecilia Woloch is an American poet and 2011 National Endowment for the Arts recipient. She has published five books, and her poetry has appeared in numerous literary publications.
Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Woloch attended Transylvania University in Kentucky where she earned degrees in English and Theater Arts. In 1999, Woloch received her Creative Writing MFA from Antioch University. For twenty years, Woloch led writing workshops in schools, prisons, and homeless shelters. Woloch began teaching at the University of Southern California in 2006, where she both leads writing workshops and teaches her students to lead workshops for local youth. She is also the founding director of Summer Poetry in Idyllwild and the Paris Poetry Workshop.
Cecilia Woloch Poems
How do people stay true to each other? When I think of my parents all those years in the unmade bed of their marriage, not ever
Slow Children at Play
All the quick children have gone inside, called by their mothers to hurry-up-wash-your-hands honey-dinner's-getting-cold, just-wait-till-your-father-gets-home- and only the slow children out on the lawns, marking off
So few birds I know by name— bluejay, cardinal, sparrow, crow, pigeon and pigeon and pigeon again. This morning I woke to the thump
Postcard to I. Kaminsky from a Dream at ...
I was leaving a country of rain for a country of apples. I hadn't much time. I told my beloved to wear his bathrobe, his cowboy boots, a black patch like a pirate might wear over his sharpest eye.
I watched him swinging the pick in the sun, breaking the concrete steps into chunks of rock, and the rocks into dust, and the dust into earth again.
My Mother's Pillow
My mother sleeps with the Bible open on her pillow; she reads herself to sleep and wakens startled. She listens for her heart: each breath is shallow.
Didn't I stand there once, white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper, swearing I'd never go back? And hadn't you kissed the rain from my mouth?
My Mother's Pillow
My mother sleeps with the Bible open on her pillow;
she reads herself to sleep and wakens startled.
She listens for her heart: each breath is shallow.
For years her hands were quick with thread and needle.
She used to sew all night when we were little;
now she sleeps with the Bible on her pillow
and believes that Jesus understands her sorrow: