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HEATHER MAECHERLEIN BROWNE

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 12/10/2014 |




THE BREATH OF BIRDS

There’s something in the breath of birds,
steam rising into mourning air,
the heat within their souls blending, mist.

Breathing in, I swallow flight
to feel the lift of wind and wing.
Eyes closed to breezes swept.

But grieving not this world or weighted ground,
they rise and soar.

With breath up
held, I stand below.
Missed.



Rain
I look for you in rain.
Where wet and washed cools the sting.
I look in puddles pooling my feet
losing the tracks,
the friction as you left.
We once fell softly.
Gentle touch of drops
fingers trickling,
delightfully slipping,
Short softened showers.
But oh, the crash of thunder magnificent.
Fiery lightning struck.
Astounding, exhausting.
Constant storms of you raged,
searching frantically for emptied clouds
or higher ground
far from where I stood.
I watched you swept away in your turbulent winds,
Chased by your continual pounding rain.


Ice

After a year of tears, her anger cooled
Final drips, dropped into ice cubed trays
Neat compartments
Separating reminders
Cold
Her heart quietly firming
She stilled her voice, calmed her trembling hands
As sorrows slowly hardened
Forming bricks frozen
She was numb
But there's a fragility with ice
And his one careless word, one carefree lie
A mallet smashing down
Crashing her into thousands
Of icy shards
Tears thaw quickly when broken open
He was deaf, oblivious
Lighting his cigarette
Close
The pool melting around her
As she drowns



[HEATHER MAECHERLEIN BROWNE]


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