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From Bleachers, a poem by Mary M. Brown

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
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.