and sweeter still
The air through apple trees
seeps through the screen into
your bedroom window
and you wake to breeze
bruised with fruit, are drawn
downstairs to the kitchen,
dark with the hum of the fridge.
You cross still warm linoleum
to the door, open and screened
to let cool into the house
and hear the sound of small frogs
alive under the deck.
When the door bangs shut
you jump, stamp your footprints
into dewed grass,
then go down on knees and hands
to crawl under the planks
looking for suddenly silent frogs.
You want to hold one, wet
against your cheek, want
to sleep here, strips of light
etching you later with morning.
's first novel The Sudden Weight of Snow (McClelland & Stewart 2002) has been called "fresh, original, funny, and rife with insight" (Toronto Star). Her Greenboathouse chapbook, getaway girl (2002) has been hailed as "poetry I can actually understand" (Laisha's mom).
Though Rosnau grew up in the birthplace of Greenboathouse books, neither book has anything to do with Vernon. Honestly. She lives in Vancouver most of the time, where she is battling with a second novel. A full-length collection of her poetry, Notes on Leaving, was released by Nightwood Editions in March 2004.
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