Snowflakes on Your Face
We took a walk that morning. I remember it was yesterday.
In the serene winter woods, our dog owned her world.
Holding hands, lost in thought.
Together in solitude, love speaks volumes.
How quiet nature gets when it snows!
It pauses at the majesty of the moment.
They landed on your scarf, foolish me without a hat.
You caught one on your eyelash, so flawlessly fleeting.
Your face: more beautiful with each snowflake's kiss.
I brushed your cheek; your soft smile held me close.
The dog stayed with us, did not forge or lag.
She felt no need to run. We had forever then.
You're both gone now; I'm in a different place.
It's snowing here, and I walk alone.
I warm myself with thoughts of us.
And snowflakes on your face.
francesca’s taut, clean style tends to “cut to the chase” of an emotional moment. From the concise storytelling of Hands, to the “poem quilt” subtlety of 50, the precise imagery of Snowflakes, and the cleverly biting elegance of Eyes, one may realize there’s meticulous craftworking at hand. Thoughtful choices allow her narratives to flow with a natural effortlessness. And apparently, francesca’s twisted sense of humor plays well with others:
I found your machete.
Note: A classic poetic style.
A tender, fond remembrance.