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.
Outside My Window 