Small Song

Small Song
copyright @aladreth antoinette brown


"No medicine in the world can do thee good." - Shakespeare

We love our tragedy,
our shots of bourbon,
distance and madness.

So, here's your mirror,
stones,
here's your adulteress,
nun, and us;
cathedraling,
bewitching, snarky, scrappy,
knotting, museuming,
foraging on cherished victories


our odds are
slim, baby, slim,
slim to nothing,
knee high
to oceans throwing
over our backs,
begging a Thou Art coming
of age,
packages of resolutions
in a tiny jam jar.


Level the angles,
level the house plants,
Damn, let me respond!
I called him, "sweetie,"
when I meant something else.


I've had to pesticide
My prayers (I MOUTH)
as dapper as they may be,
the weight of sod on my wall -
spray on it,
funeral it,
exist in it,
that tiny jam jar
of destiny.