Rose, 1956

Sharp hangover, it is Christmas Eve

It fades and evaporates

Passing the trains and lakes and trees

Your breaths are short and urgent and it is unsettling

You got married when you were 15

Now I hide out from telephone wires at Waxahatchee Creek

Your body, weak from smoke and tar and subsequent disease

You got married when you were 15

No miscalculation, each other's only living means

Your arms wane thinner

Your legs surrender

Sunlight probing, it is christmas eve

No stitch of shade, we pass by lakes and big mimosa trees

Your breaths are short and urgent and it is unsettling

You got married when you were 15