From Bleachers by Mary M. Brown We do not sit on grass much anymore, seldom on the slopes of river beds or among clover or dandelion heads. We do not sit on the saddles of horses, almost never settle on the benches of row boats or canoes. We rarely sit in circles now, or scattered in trees, or face to face, knees bent, eyes close-focused or closed to every thing but inner sunrise, the burning ball of our own singular light. About the poet: Mary M. Brown lives with her husband, Bill, in Anderson, Ind. She’s a Hoosier not by birth but by long residence and disposition, and she enjoys proximity to all six of her grandchildren. Retired, she taught literature and creative writing at Indiana Wesleyan for many years. Her work appears on the Poetry Foundation and the American Life in Poetry websites and has been published recently in Christian Century, The Cresset, Quiddity, Flying Island, and Justice Journal.
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.