Francesca Bell


Thank You for

            the consolation rain

this day of

            the dear one’s

death wish, of a

            possible lesion

on my beloved’s brain.

            Thank You for this

pouring on the parched

            garden, too late

for shriveled-black

            willows. Life twists,

narrows, its cliff drops,

            sickening, to one side.

I can’t help

            but think I’d like to

have already fallen,

            unhanded at last

and feigning





“Belated” first appeared in Tar River Poetry Review.