Three poems – Jane Brunette

Jane Brunette


i see a dead baby chick
still round like the egg but with wings
floating down the canal
it might be something from a tree
but my mind makes it a stillborn bird
face down and drown
moss grows an emerald carpet
on the yielding bark
of a redwood stump

rat’s nest

my house has been invaded
by the mad one
listless she wanders
from room to room
looking for something
she doesn’t know what
it’s always been missing
she doesn’t know what
her confusion is what I most despise
the way she blends the edges of things
until the walls speak with white paint tongues

a rat dragged the legal pad
I used to figure things out
to the open space near the roof
chewed the edges as a snack
then tore my words into a nest to sleep in
even when i took the pad back
hid it under buddha’s shrine
a few minutes later i heard it rustle
the rat was back insisting
if it were a dream i could interpret it
but instead the mad one
swallows a burning coal
the words meant to soothe
now a nest for the rat

is it possible to enjoy the hells
if i don’t enter them completely
just stay in the silver space
where buddhas chant and om
the mad one
doesn’t trust the buddhas
they are too remote and pure
she prefers jesus dripping with blood
persecuted and alone
hammered to a dead tree
swearing at god
the mad one always feels better
after swearing at god —
last night she called him an asshole

eyes of trees

benevolent and stern
they’ve seen history
undisturbed by lightening
and the climbing squirrel
who springs and flies
legs splayed open in their boughs
such children
we reach not even to their knees
they see wi-fi signals
lost bees and viruses
polar bears confused
by dwindling ice and spring
the world melts beneath my feet
i stand on a thin plate of air
about to crack

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply