OUTSIDE MY WINDOW it’s never the same. See if you’ve been there or going.

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 too. 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 light on the earth and through my window it still lives.