Jennifer Brown
Days of wind-chased rain & now a first steady chill between gusts. At last, sunset, peach & gold as a painter’s dream of truth. All at once, it seemed, the light rose as if it had discovered Earth, saying in its speechless way, glory & amen. It laved the grass & leaves, all still green, in a gold lie, dyed the clouds & left the sky such clear & brilliant blue as to make Technicolor seem no more than the dim, familiar palette of the real. We could almost believe the world asks to be cherished, sometimes, through our fear. From its great impersonal to our single selves, down to the cells a part of it, inseparable, though we stand apart & say a word like self. The dawn of understanding, by induction, must arrive again as it always has before: this dusk, trees already-darkened piers upholding sky, must come & go, give way to dark, to light, & on (remember)— out of history, beyond human will.

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Jennifer Brown studied at the University of Maryland and University of Houston, has taught creative writing and literature in high schools, colleges, summer programs, and festivals, and has held residencies at the Weymouth Center for the Arts and the Vermont Studio Center. In 2018, she won the Linda Flowers Literary Award from the NC Humanities Council. Her essays and poems appear in North Carolina Literary Review, Stonecrop, Muse/A, Utterance: a Journal, IthacaLit, Atticus Review, and other publications.