And Say
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About this ebook
With degrees in English and creative writing, Jessica Brown is currently pursuing her PhD at the University of Limerick. Her publications include an essay in the book Jane Austen and the Arts, articles in Journal for Spiritual Formation and Soul Care, as well as the children’s novel The River Boy and several short stories and creative nonfiction essays. Born and raised in southeast Texas.
Jessica Brown
With degrees in English and creative writing, Jessica Brown is currently pursuing her PhD at the University of Limerick. Her publications include an essay in the book Jane Austen and the Arts, articles in Journal for Spiritual Formation and Soul Care, as well as the children’s novel The River Boy and several short stories and creative nonfiction essays. Born and raised in southeast Texas, she now lives with her husband and son in County Clare.
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And Say - Jessica Brown
Sunlight has bleached
the grazed grass along the high canal.
Spates of gold thread
the purple-pearl mountains
in the distance.
Shades of green and lavender
(moving shadows of loosened cloud)
weave in and out this shuttling loom
of terra firma and firmament.
These gentle colors are alive,
live and move and have their being
speak the voice of prismatic order,
and say, like the math of music:
it will be alright
All this
does not stint.
If hope’s desire’s not nigh,
that is what hope is for.
Wing and Stone
woven threads of — anger —
is pocket
of hunger
like a mouth with gauze
over bloody gums and empty tooth socket
I’m so hungry for more
how will I not eat
you?
I watch those wild geese on the lough,
sink my eyes into the photographs I’ve saved
of sculpted stones at Ravello, which ease the gnaw
and geese’s wing, the chew
Three Looks
from the outside, my life
has shape,
a logos exists, the moving bulk of soft clay
wool woven into pattern, curve of bell
but from the inside
there’s no pattern; there’s bluster — bloat — blindness
I would say dark waves, but even the ocean
has a rhythm that I cannot sound out here:
pathos, bromide of sorrow
ligaments thatched over moist wounds
and within all that?
caritas,
the love of God
warm blue egg in burly brown nest
and, promise of, birdsong
Hold-Held
1
You said, I can see the beauty here
holding you
and you cupped your hands
like a bowl
You had yet to see the way
the wild-eyed icebergs had sculpted this place,
the way they spliced the huge hills in two,
Tountinna on one side, Moylussa on the other
so that the waters of the