There are infinitesimal moments, milliseconds actually, when a decision is made and life takes an unexpected turn. For Rosie, it came while driving on the thruway, passing a double trailer, when, seeing the slight curve of the road ahead, she imagined how twisting winds and shifting weights of masses in motion could possibly blow the truck over, crushing her soft flesh and brittle bones into a confounding mass of crumpled metal that could never be put right.
The year she stopped eating and working and talking, she devolved, draping cloth over mirrors, not brushing her teeth. She went from Emily Dickinson to Sylvia Plath to Anne Sexton, reading their work over and over, copying their words. A day came. She reached for a pencil... cracked egg, hot griddle. Her first poem filled two pages. She now eats oatmeal and wanton soup from the Chinese restaurant.