OUTSIDE MY WINDOW
An opera of POEms
BY VICTORIA ROSE
BEGINNINGS
It was the beginning of fall
An in-between time
when the landscape is still partly green:
The bones of the weeds kept
swinging in the winds
below blue clouds
It’s the beginning of fall
the light moved slowly over
textured fields
over crowns of yellow
the surviving bones
swinging through winds
below orange clouds
Was it light?
Was it light in between?
Was it light between light?
Not dead but sleeping
Yet?
Still?
It will come again
What once entertained you
Be still.
Wait.
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Victoria Rose’s poetry opens the reader to places where “snow melts around dead roots,” where “bees flower in their flush” and “time becomes an answer rather than a question.” Before you open this collection, prepare yourself for romance that sits in “a ’36 coupe” and nostalgia of a floral bibbed apron hung back of a door. Victoria’s voice moves the reader through flocks of robins and crows and black-capped chickadees to visions of moonlight whose “magic unfolds liquid gold” and fingers of gold, barely visible.”
Mary E. O’Dell, author of A Dangerous Man, Poems for the Man Who weighs Light and Living in the Body.
On a farm in Southern Indiana, I worked hard. The days were long but we achieved what every farmer had to. It was a livelihood but it was a life like no other. On the farm, I saw every phase of the moon saw the Milky Way pore on the earth and through my window, it still lives.
PUBLISHED BY OUTSKIRTS PRESS