There was that one early morning
between downtown Manhattan
when your breath turned greater than cold.
Slipping away from your tongue
it did not hang gray smoke
past your eyes; it did not
particle spread like cool gas.
Instead it was strange,
in the hints of the sun,
you took it in, and it fell
down through you and swirled
against all of your organs
and touched the parts of you
that you have never seen before
but trust do exist.
It was something strange
that went on in there – your body,
because when the air was released
from you, it was not air at all anymore.
It was Origami – a white crane
whose paper wings collected
the air that it once was
and lifted over the Hudson.
You smiled a small smile
as if you had always known
your insides had such delicate hands.
How amazing, I thought
the inside of you must be!
Detroit writer and poet Ian Brown currently resides in New York City where he is receiving an MFA in poetry from the New School. Author of 3 chap books and recipient of the 2009 Jim Cash Award in Poetry, his work can be found in such places as PANK Magazine and the Best American Poetry blog.
I just nominated you for the Inspiring Blogger Award! Love what you do here.
Susan, I’m really happy you like these poems. I really appreciate you reading them, and Eunoia posting them.