“All of us who read this book live inside the pages of The Boy Who Slept Under the Stars. An epigraph for one of the book's sections by Vijay Seshardi says, 'Nobody deals with the deepest existential response{to loss}, which is bafflement.' And the reader of the book realizes that this is not just a book of grief or of anger and not just a book in which love lives on every page, but it is also, and underneath everything else, a book about that place inside us all where bafflement meets mystery: a strange place, sometimes frightening and sometimes filled with stars and pines, clear flowing water and the deep joy of companionship. 'Should I even be writing this?' Lloyd asks, in parentheses, near the end of the book. Yes, is the answer. Oh, yes.”--Jim Moore, author of Invisible Strings
“Roseann Lloyd has made The Boy Who Slept Under the Stars 'not only for those who exit suddenly, but also for those who mourn them.' This new book recreates the movement of healing: first unspeakable grief, revealed in tight prose, then interrogation, investigation, a pursuit of the missing on a personal, local, and global scale, and finally expansive understanding, the poet's heart not only doubled, but tripled in the powerful final poems such as 'Have Drum Will Journey.' I am grateful for these poems, encouraged to accept there's a trail we all follow, knowing one day we will be lost, but understanding now how those we leave find comfort, and how we can keep going when our own loves walk on.”--Heid E. Erdrich, author of Cell Traffic: New and Selected Poems
“As a solo wilderness traveler, I routinely face the possibility of my dying alone in a remote place. It is a risk vs. reward agreement I accept, one which, unfortunately, is much harder for those left behind to understand. When Roseann Lloyd’s brother disappears on a day hike in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in 2005, his life ends, I would suggest, in a manner he would have found fitting, even if its timing was premature. But for Roseann, the sudden loss of a brother, whose body was never found, sets her on a journey sifting through the duff of family memories—each layer redolent with a distinct aroma. Through her poetry, she reconstructs connections and attempts to organize the random—ultimately completing a journey of celebration, acceptance, and personal growth.”--Craig Blacklock, author, photographer, Minnesota's North Shore and Apostle Islands—From Land and Sea
"The poems in Roseann Lloy'd new poetry collection take us on a sister’s unflinching exploration into her grief, her family’s grief, for a brother lost in the wilderness. She brings us with her into the deep waters of being a sister. She eloquently expresses the past shared with her brother. His absence breathes upon the present and evokes other disappearances—children missing in Iraq, Jacob Wetterling abducted, climbers lost on Everest, a college student drowned. These are visceral poems, full of verbal energy and rich patterns of sound--Lloyd’s lines are allowed to breathe and they move about in always interesting forms. The powerful prose poem, "Messing Around in Boats," shows us her mother reading Wind in the Willows: 'Look, look, cries my brother, he’s heading for the road, he’s heading for the river, he’s getting away!' I have never been so moved by a book of poetry."--Mary Kay Rummel, author of What's Left is the Singing
“All of us who read this book live inside the pages of The Boy Who Slept Under the Stars. An epigraph for one of the book's sections by Vijay Seshardi says, 'Nobody deals with the deepest existential response{to loss}, which is bafflement.' And the reader of the book realizes that this is not just a book of grief or of anger and not just a book in which love lives on every page, but it is also, and underneath everything else, a book about that place inside us all where bafflement meets mystery: a strange place, sometimes frightening and sometimes filled with stars and pines, clear flowing water and the deep joy of companionship. 'Should I even be writing this?' Lloyd asks, in parentheses, near the end of the book. Yes, is the answer. Oh, yes.”--Jim Moore, author of Invisible Strings
“Roseann Lloyd has made The Boy Who Slept Under the Stars 'not only for those who exit suddenly, but also for those who mourn them.' This new book recreates the movement of healing: first unspeakable grief, revealed in tight prose, then interrogation, investigation, a pursuit of the missing on a personal, local, and global scale, and finally expansive understanding, the poet's heart not only doubled, but tripled in the powerful final poems such as 'Have Drum Will Journey.' I am grateful for these poems, encouraged to accept there's a trail we all follow, knowing one day we will be lost, but understanding now how those we leave find comfort, and how we can keep going when our own loves walk on.”--Heid E. Erdrich, author of Cell Traffic: New and Selected Poems
“As a solo wilderness traveler, I routinely face the possibility of my dying alone in a remote place. It is a risk vs. reward agreement I accept, one which, unfortunately, is much harder for those left behind to understand. When Roseann Lloyd’s brother disappears on a day hike in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in 2005, his life ends, I would suggest, in a manner he would have found fitting, even if its timing was premature. But for Roseann, the sudden loss of a brother, whose body was never found, sets her on a journey sifting through the duff of family memories—each layer redolent with a distinct aroma. Through her poetry, she reconstructs connections and attempts to organize the random—ultimately completing a journey of celebration, acceptance, and personal growth.”--Craig Blacklock, author, photographer, Minnesota's North Shore and Apostle Islands—From Land and Sea
"The poems in Roseann Lloy'd new poetry collection take us on a sister’s unflinching exploration into her grief, her family’s grief, for a brother lost in the wilderness. She brings us with her into the deep waters of being a sister. She eloquently expresses the past shared with her brother. His absence breathes upon the present and evokes other disappearances—children missing in Iraq, Jacob Wetterling abducted, climbers lost on Everest, a college student drowned. These are visceral poems, full of verbal energy and rich patterns of sound--Lloyd’s lines are allowed to breathe and they move about in always interesting forms. The powerful prose poem, "Messing Around in Boats," shows us her mother reading Wind in the Willows: 'Look, look, cries my brother, he’s heading for the road, he’s heading for the river, he’s getting away!' I have never been so moved by a book of poetry."--Mary Kay Rummel, author of What's Left is the Singing
