Roslyn

Roslyn has nothing going nothing to fight for no work to do she couldn’t name one desire that is not someone else’s or a man she cannot claim where she came from will not claim who she is or the way she cries so no one can see she has no work to do cannot finish books feed herself or go out alone she is always late not to sit alone somewhere and wait she wouldn’t know what to do Roslyn doesn’t want a thing but she waits for something anyway she has no work to do she holds off interests passions and opinions everything but the facts and these come to her from dramas and the papers she agrees with fiction and what people say i wouldn’t trust her in court or on my back a woman without a dream is a fault in the earth all steam and liquid fire Roslyn goes to work has a job but no calling waits for the word to call herself no one ever remembers her name or where they saw her she waits to be told she’s the only one her tyranny is silent small and sexual her losses are great she has not called herself said, “I’m here, now, deal with me” Roslyn wouldn’t hurt a fly but people fear her sleep her unconscious the primal whatever that wants to play it might have guns out for the rest of us