While we slept, a hospital was bombed
On the other side of the world 
(We, forgive us, lived happily during the war)

I fed a dove from the palm of my hand 
Watched the bombs fall
(Forgive us)
The fall of a baby bird,
some endangered thing,
Preserved (Forgive us)

All of America is watching

Her fist, his heart 
The eggshell of it, all
Veins and blood and tissue skin

Two nested fists hold something fragile
Heart or eggshell or life
(forgive us)

I wish I had a stronger word for love,
the measure of egg drop sun falling on your back through an open window
The coo of a dove echoed through the courtyard of a ruined building
Two toothbrushes in a little cup of morning 
(Forgive us, we were happy)

A cat lays 
In the middle of my street, the 
Velvet of her soft ears, a
Little noise of surprise
(Forgive us, watchers)

Slice the paper-plastic like her open belly
(No one is watching)
Lay the flower-insides over the spilled-out parts, the rest 
Around her wreathed, 
So she can sleep
In a little pool of sun

[POETRY]
[07/23/25]

AIDEN “A.J.” BROWN is a writer, artist, and Aquarius rising. They hold an MA from The University of Chicago, and daylight as an English teacher in Los Angeles where they live with their husband, musician Kris Balocca.

HOME

SHUFFLE