Poem From a Stoop in Brooklyn
And if we would have left it alone—
would the silence—have persuaded us
to renege—on its own enchantment?
It was no accident—the cloud being
in the shape of Peru—the sunflower bowing—
to the rusted bike— the sky a collar—
round the neck of a tree—balancing
there—the echoes of the jets—find a shady
place to die in—like an old cat from an old
farm—a fence and a marigolden field—
rustic doesn’t begin to describe—
the small patch of earth—these winds
originate from—toward this city—
yet nobody—around to witness—
this one wind—
drifting through
these specific weeds—
but why should they—
I’m not here too.
Kyle Seamus Brosnihan is a Filipino-American poet and playwright, living and teaching in Brooklyn. He is the Arts Editor for the Brooklyn Review. His poetry has been published in The Empty House Review, Always Crashing, Boston Accent Lit, and elsewhere.
Previous: Suhrith Bellamkonda • Issue 18 • Next: Maryfrances Wagner
The Mantle 