the drowning

by Mary Frances

beyond the whitenight city
garden she plays solitaire
drenched in shadowgrasses the

candles flutter in dice-cups
wind drifts down uneven streets
and all goodfolk in their bed

her feverhands shake her voice
<dumbly articulate in
the slant of her mind quick blue

light in young veins suspension
of memory suspension
of desire so her eyes rise

purplegreen sky bough on bough
breath to breath she dances her
hair all chinese crocuses

applelight mimics the sun
the wind in the broken roofs
the drowning comes to dream her

[This work was from the Cut-up (Jigsaw) Salon, May-16]

(26 May 2016)

Mary Frances has made cut-ups most of her life, inspired by her grandfather who gave her scrapbooks and a pair of child-size scissors at 5 years old, and she makes collages using photographs, paintings and text. She may be read at @maryfrancesness.

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