(When Francis Rose was 18)
Dear God,
Happiness is what you give me at night. My life stretches, thin webbing, to other people
before I fall asleep I love them all. Time wheels away from me and the other people are
gone except for those who are going. They snap back because the webbing of my life is
tough and because I remember them and because some of them love me. I know them.
You give me this dark space of time in a summer evening. I say thank you for that and it
isn't to be polite. It is a secret code for I love you.
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