Lily Brown

A storm rolls color around
the mountaintop, sky given over
to the deeply hued.
The river, stirred to sultry,
carves the village up.

Night figures a doorjamb’s red
square. Light above cuts
its stage into a scene.

So what?

I know looking and not
pinning the view.

I’ve been hum-stuck, parallel
to the woodwork,
saying um.

How close to the body
should you hold your hands
when the view pulses, when with each
beat you change
what’s in or in front of you?

Continue to “Blue Machine”

About the Work

Lily Brown

Lily Brown is the author of Rust or Go Missing (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2011). Her poems have appeared in Fence, Pleiades, American Letters and Commentary, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Gulf Coast, and elsewhere. She was born and raised in Massachusetts.

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