Frannie Lindsay

The Good World
February 23, 2017 Lindsay Frannie

The Good World


but when I painted the deer
I didn’t want to scare her

so I started with the leaves
her slow tongue curled around

then the nearby apples come loose
on their brittling stems

for her alone

I painted even the halfheartedness
of that red then

her’s eyes closing, leaving the sun
to tire by itself

as her lips rolled wetly across
their amiable consonant of eating

then I stopped
for it was her long day’s end

but some apple still glistened

on the tip of my brush

Frannie Lindsay’s sixth volume of poetry, The Snow’s Wife, was released in 2020 from Cavankerry Press. Her awards include the May Swenson Award, the Perugia Prize, the Benjamin Saltman Award, the Washington Prize, The Missouri Review Prize, as well as fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Massachusetts Cultural Council. Her work has appeared in Best American Poetry, and numerous periodicals such as The Yale Review, The Atlantic Monthly, Plume, Under a Warm Green Linden, and Field. She teaches workshops on the poetry of grief. She is also a classical pianist.