http://slow.writerscafe.org/SabrinaBrown The original writings of author Brina en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776031309 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Here are the two elk, separated by heavy fog and wolf tracks. Feeling and hearing the other’s call carry across the frozen tundra, like a bird taking new flight, a church bell, a love song. Like an angel calls, “Hark, be not afraid.” The nearby trees shake as squirrels and birds sh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2936811/ the frog dies belly-up in the shallow end of a pool strewn with winter's carnage.the frog dies and you poke its legs to tempt it awake;it is unyielding and vicious in its stillness.so you lift it out and bury it in the garden,between the unripe tomatoes and the infant daffodils.there's a s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2855530/ And though I'm sure it didn't happen, I remember sitting atop my dad's shoulders, pointing to Father John, and asking "Is that God?" My dad told me no, but sometimes I still picture God as a 5'5" man with wire-framed glasses and a rapidly thinning halo of hair. calling us children to the front of th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2855100/ In the way that an orgasm is the releasing of a raincloudWhere Michelangelo's chisel meeting the marble Is the tender embrace of two loversIn which David is the rising formThe waves crashing ashore mimics the fluttering of eyelids,and the gentle kiss that followsWhere the everyday sensualities .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2605594/ it rained here tonight and i thought of you.it pummeled and poured for hours on end.i brought out the trash just to hear it’s relentless heartbeat,wondering if you’d stand here too.you asked me once,when Thursday would come againi told you there were only seven days in a weekwe were.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2487355/ I am writing this for a girl with soft handsTwenty fingers between us and I still run out of roomTo count all the ways I love herAll my windows are open and the light only comes in when she does.We stand in front of a mirrorI ask her if she sees herself the way I do.She chuckles to herself, and turn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2482375/ This one's really just for me so if no one likes it that's okay http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2479953/ And I see there are people crying in these portraits. In these stained glass windows men and women on their knees, their eyes lifted to a god only they can see, tears streaming down their faces. And this water they birth, I wonder if their god will turn that tii, into wine. Is their god so great tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2479819/ As if you're not the sum of the seashells you've rescued from the sand, The stubborn seeds you've sown,Rest easy now, and remember the lines on your palmsAre a map of the places you have been and will one day see. If you asked me to, I'd lead down the roadmap, show you the pit stops y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2476542/ Because what is love if not their glow staying with you long after the sun has set?A mourning for a touch unborn, The midwife missing and the labor of yearning still searing,All for the birth of a reunion.What is love if it is not promises,Spoken in hushed whispers over the phone,As the world g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2174535/ Pressed roses that always smell like lilies, the license plate 008-PRW, a lack of,17, though that rests at the tip of my tongue,dirt, grime, and dustgoodbyes I am always repeating but never saying out loudeither scars or fresh wounds, they all look the same in the dark2 eggs and a recipe t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2168545/ If forgiveness was a tree, it would be the weeping willow outside your childhood home. It would wave as you drive by, with the quiet knowledge that you don't always need it, but someday you will.And maybe when you step beneath that tree, it would smell your mom's detergent, or your best friend's per.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2168481/ I am tired of writing a love I have never knownThese metaphors come to me in the nightTaunting of a life another version of myself is leadingI would tell you of her skin, her hair, the way she makes me laugh,How I look at her and forget what day it isAnd that every freckle and scar across her skinAr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2160569/ We answer to different mothers, you and IYours is of the womb, She wrapped you in warmth and named you for her loveMine put my feet in the earthLet the rain caress my faceAnd called me after the howling winds.While you picked dandelions in the springtimeI grew mushrooms in the woods,Kissed.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2160147/ DEFINITELY not done yet oops http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2159134/ I awake in the backseat of the family car, seatbelt cutting into my neck and drool dribbling down my chin. My baby brother is asleep next to me, jaw hanging open as if perpetually surprised. I look out the window to see the silhouettes of trees and fields passing us by. They are just as asleep as I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2159076/ when the smoke clears we are standing among the rubblebut I have no ideawhether we are in the processof building or breaking ourselves. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2158597/ i'm feeling creative but have zero ideas xoxo http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2158162/ I've been working on this one for a while, but I don't know if I'll ever really finish it, so here's where it's at right now. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2155973/ Creepy guy from fourth floor,Slid a note under my door,Hung out twice, then never again,Because I got bored.Sheldon from Big Bang TheoryGot stuck at a dead end jobat T-MobileAsked me to dance, but I said "noi'm not that drunk"Tweedledee and Tweedledum approachedWas drunk, but pretty sureThey asked i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2151683/ I am not a great poet, or even a great writer in general, but I do love writing poetry. For me, it offers a form of expression rooted in both anonymity and deep personal connection. People that read my poems don’t know my name or what I look like, and yet they can understand my innermost strug.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2151538/ love or sumn, still trying to figure it out http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2150864/ Sabrina and me, We are the best of friends. Yes.I love her. Yippee. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2149791/ I am the answer to an unasked question.My presence reeks of misplacement.A creature born of the void,Emerged only to discoverHer creator and homeNever existed in the first place. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2149653/ Her laughter is like church bells.It reaches the rafters of every roomAnd makes me believe for just a momentThere might be something greater,Because who of this earth,Could have written that song? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2149650/ My sweet Benji is nine months older than me, six inches taller, and three times as smart. All that and I still consider him my baby.Maybe it's because he came out to me late at night, his bisexuality just flickering in the moonlight, in that way only queerness can. And in that moment I saw a string .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2149230/ Today, the morning after my mother and sister left for Minnesota, I opened the fridge. Inside were three beautiful, red and round honeycrisp apples. Their gleaming skin winked at me from beneath the fluorescent fridge lights; an invitation I was more than willing to accept. Taking one into my hands,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2149227/ This song has been passed downLike a family heirloomNone of us realized we were humming along toIt reminds me of my fatherOf a bathroom door closed With the rhythm leaking beneath the crackIt reminds me of my motherAnd how she swears she hates rap.My parents’ pain of an absent .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2107285/ And you've always loved the way I hate myself.You let me burn my rose petal skinJust so you could smell the ashes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2096799/ I am in eighth grade. Anna S. sits next to me,A contagious smirk,Playing across her lips,Laughing at her own joke,Occasionally looking at me,To see if I am laughing too.Anna always wears her basketball shoes,Her hair tied back.She brushes worries off her shoulder,As easily as eraser shavings of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2095989/ Winter is my least favorite season,Which is to say the moon knows me,Better than I'd like it to.I close the shades every night.I can't enter a room if they're open.I have a fear of stickers.My only goal in life is that I make people laugh,If I can do that.You can leave my body on a park bench at the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2095847/ Sixteen is the year I cry at the wheel of a car,The seatbelt constricting my throat,The key burning my skin.The walls closing in.My mother thrown out of the window,And it is all my faultSixteen is an 'overactive' imagination.Sixteen is not looking in the mirror,For fear that it will shatter.Sixteen .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2095657/ Your freckles were dandelion seeds,Blown with the tender breath of a child out of school,Come to land on the first pretty thing they see.Your voice was the buzzing of bees,A low thrum echoing against milkweed and daisies,Reminding me I am alive.Your eyes were sapphires,Were bluebirds come to sing,We.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2095651/ To be woman is to be prettyTo be anxious is that being my weaknessTo be woman is people thinking me ditzyTo be anxious is letting them believe thatTo be woman is to be waitress, fine china, and mealTo be anxious is to not want to spill the teacupTo be woman is to be the tea cupTo be anxious is to kn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2095504/ Oh thank you,sweet cradle That which hath borne unto me a new river, A baby neither you nor I wanted. Thank you, You, which have stretched the three daysTo sevenAn explicable marathon you continue to run,With nothing but the sheer force of your will.You know no finish line T.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2076094/ I wrote this a couple years ago and I'm still not sure yet how I feel about it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2075783/ Searching among the rubble these careless children have left in their wake, I find you. Just by looking at you it is clear this is not your first time here. There is dirt caked in your joints and scratches across your chest. You have been in a war, though not the war you were expecting. Rather tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2075738/ I am twelve years old. I have spent the entire day with my best friend, Jessie. As we aresettling down for bed in the living room of her townhouse, I remember the video she showed meearlier that day, and the feeling of uneasiness that has followed me ever since. We situateourselves on the couc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/2075725/ Girl is really happy. Girl is never not smiling.Girl laughs, and everyone hears an echo of daffodils and butterscotch.Other Girl is not all that happy.Other Girl has no desire to smile.Other Girl hears laughter,But only registers a mockery of her self-loathing.Girl is home to all things gentle,An op.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SabrinaBrown/1888593/