Image by Rachel Claire from Pexels
Phillip Watts Brown received his MFA in poetry from Oregon State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Ninth Letter, The Common, Ruminate, Spillway, Tahoma Literary Review, Orange Blossom Review, Grist, Rust + Moth, and Longleaf Review. He and his husband live in northern Utah, where he works as a graphic designer. He also serves as a poetry editor for the journal Halfway Down the Stairs. Find more of his poetry at www.phillipwattsbrown.com/poetry.
Just One Thing
—after Georgia O’Keeffe
Sometimes I long to be bone,
sun-bleached and clean.
Spine and shoulders undone,
my head so antlered
with worry at rest
in the desert’s warm hands.
Hip socket, an oculus:
look through to watch
the day moon float
across endless blue sky.
My body confuses me,
its layers of memory
and muscle, tensing
at any rustle in the brush,
my mind a clear night
hungry with owls.
Oh to be just one thing.
Not a town or a house,
not even the hearth
holding a clutch of cut wood.
Instead, a red canna lily,
a singular flame painting
the darkness. My only tasks
to burn and to breathe.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
©2023 Iron Oak Editions LLC