Sample Poems by Grey Brown
For My Oldest Brother Who Was Blue
Because he was so close to being
one of us, when someone asks
how many,
I always say five.
A blue baby,
as though he died
of premature, angelic sadness,
a sadness too great to contain,
tiny heart
constricting.
He was the beginning,
I was the end,
three others strung between,
and I can’t help thinking
how he might have saved us.
First-born boy,
just the grounding
our young father needed,
ally for the later son
lonely in our house of sisters,
and what might our mother have been
without this first sadness?
The next child, a girl
fearfully conceived,
spoiled through caution,
through desperation,
might have settled
more calmly into second place,
the rest of us drifting
down through gentle memories
never stumbling through
such pregnant grief.
Purple Irises on the Mantel
are the color of souls lost
between worlds.
Today’s blossoms fresh, brazen,
pressing the air,
yesterday’s blooms spent,
closed lips,
empty cocoons curling into themselves,
relaxed bellies of folded flesh
remembering.
Fertility
My father used to hide this love,
that could not be contained
by such a simple thing
as family. The out-of-town dinners,
seed too rich to save,
his body younger
as she faded and the children grew away.
That time they caught him,
cashmere and chocolates in the Thunderbird,
oldest boy swearing
he’d never forgive him.
Now this Florida, bright and rich,
ready for his widow-hood,
acre yard planted with citrus,
thatch palm and trumpet vine.
Mangrove sprouts spin along an easy current,
and that garden, that damn garden
where he cracks his rind
right into the soil, sun and rain
conspiring with him,
sprouts rising in tropical heat.
Ordering Information: Bookstores and Individuals