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And Say
And Say
And Say
Ebook123 pages22 minutes

And Say

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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.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 28, 2020
ISBN9781005485993
And Say
Author

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

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