Rose Auslander

When the wind blows

& your fences fall & birds nest in your petunias & your daughter walks into your words
          & you lose her there

when lightning burns a path in a random paragraph & your body refuses to walk that path
            or take you much of anywhere

when your lips ache from saying nothing

when bombs fall on the home your grandparents once fled & for a moment you’re relieved
        they’re already safely dead

when the sun can’t bear to rise

when it gets to you, how your legs won’t carry you out to deadhead old blooms & rebuild fences
        & fix the moon in its orbit

when all you can do is sit

when your daughter comes to sit with you

here is a morning to hold in your hands

Rose Auslander                           

Rose Auslander lives on Cape Cod. Obsessed with water, she is the author of the book Wild Water Child, the chapbooks Folding Water, Hints, and The Dolphin in the Gowanus, and poems in the Berkeley Poetry Review, Baltimore Review, New American Writing, RHINO, Roanoke Review, Rumble Fish, Tinderbox, and Tupelo Quarterly. She earned her MFA in Poetry at Warren Wilson.