did I wake up beneath
toasted cotton clouds

or smeared tears
against the murky eye,

haven’t the birds
alerted of my arrival
for one more day

or did they jerk me
from my empty slumber
as tiny wells as thunder

hasn’t the morning dew
grounded me briskly
shocking my re-existence

or did it soak through
layers of my resistance,
earning distance

at what point did I hear
the infinite breath
that slipped through
branches and fountains
just to kiss me

or did it come too late
before my wake
chilling, as is sometimes does
the blaze to take

and didn’t the sun
greet me with everything
warm and gleaming
blinding snares teeming
joining the frenzy
to celebrate my rising

or does it shine
on the shell
of a nobody?

– B. Brown

(image by JOANNA KRÓTKA)

7 thoughts on “Crestfallen

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  1. This was what I first read this morning and your words echoed how I’m feeling these days. I truly appreciate your melancholy honesty and strength.

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