From
Bleachers
by Mary M. Brown
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.
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.