HEATHER MAECHERLEIN BROWNE

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]