(When she was 14)
Every Sunday we go to Mass like married people looking at old corsages and underpants,
thinking about necking, sorting through scraps of memories to build and rebuild their love
story. Christ came down from heaven. The world was seething and demented with no
room for him. He had to live with all the people who were crammed in the corners. My
mom sees the love story of her and Christ everywhere but it makes her forget the world is
unbalanced.
Francis Rose's grief
Francis Rose's letters to God from
when she was:
[14]
[14]
[15]
[15]
[16]
[16]
[16]
[17]
[17]
[18]
[18]
[18]
[20]
[21]
[21]
[22]
rain and frying meat
old corsages and underpants
It is snowing
people with soft lives want time
the sestina
the sestina's introduction
brittle, cluttered sentences
airplanes are not angels
people talk in fluttering prayers
please don't be a mirror
thin webbing
sodder the minutes together
fields torn off of a green sun
the sky burns with stars
Tractus Love-cannibalism
Francis Rose's sweater drawer
