Author: Simona A. Brinson
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The Frailty of Fog Fog tiptoes softly over the hill,Draped in a gown of silver chill.It tastes like dew on a sleepy tongue,And hums where spiderwebs are strung.It curls through trees with feather-light feet,Cool as a ghost and faintly sweet.The sun gives chase with fingers of gold,And fog grows shy, no longer bold.One warm breath,…
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The Woman on the Road How many times the hammer fell,she could not name, she could not tell.The nights had blurred to one long bruise,a life of wounds she did not choose.The house stood black against the moon,its windows watching her ruin.Behind its walls, his curses crawledlike spiders through the darkened hall.She fled without a…
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After We Had Finished By the time I found the field,winter had already completed its careful revision of the world.The snow had removed the unnecessary things—footprints,distinctions,directions,the small evidence that anyone had ever believed another bodycould become a home.I sat because there was nothing left to negotiate.The ground beneath me was frozen to a depthno season…
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Suit of Armor She walks as though she fears no fight,With sharpened words and eyes of night.Her shoulders square, her voice held low,So no one sees the hurt below.She wears her anger like a shield,A warning sign she will not yield.Her laughter rings both hard and bright,A blade she carries through the night.They call her…
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Brown smells like memory.Not the kindyou keep in photographs,but the kindthat lives in your handslong after you’ve washed them,that rises without warningwhen rain strikes old woodor autumn beginsits slow conversationwith the earth.Brown smells like dead leaves.Not dying—dead.Curled into themselves,soft with surrender,becoming the dark languageroots have always understood.Brown smells like bark,its rough skin carryingthe patience of…
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Give Me Your Darkest Hour I knelt beneath a moonless sky,With weary heart and tear-filled eye.The silence broke—a voice so near,It spoke with love that conquered fear.”My child,” God said, “why hide from Me?Why guard the chains that keep you bound?I’ve seen the depths you cannot see,Yet still My grace and love abound.”I bowed my…
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For Susan Sue stands at her kitchen counter,cutting a piece of cheddarfrom the block she keeps there—not cold from the refrigerator,but soft beneath the knife,warm enough to releaseits sharp, familiar scent.She lifts it to her mouth,and before she can finish chewing,the kitchen fades.She is a little girl againin the early seventies,standing beside Mydaddyon the front…
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The Smell of Green Green smells like coming home.Like fresh-cut grassclinging to Daddy’s work clothes,to the bottom of his boots,to the quiet pridehe carried through the back doorbefore he carried himself.The whole house knewhe was homebefore it heard his voice.Green smells like that.Green smells like collard greenssimmering slowwith hammocksa whisper of smoke,filling every roomuntil hunger…
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Loving Blind They say love is blind.I don’t think that’s true.I think love sees everything—the cracks,the excuses,the trembling hands,the promises stitched together with loose thread…and whispers,”Maybe this time.”Because loving blind isn’t about missing the warning signs.It’s about believingthey’re just temporary.It’s convincing yourselfthat red flags are only sunsetsif you squint hard enough.It’s saying,”I know who they…
My Life In Word 