I Seek to Stumble

Bramble switches lay quiet
waiting
waiting for unwary feet running haphazardly
prick
stab
tumble
blood on my new stockings.

Yesterday, only yesterday I
washed them and now
rust stains and

tiny tears
rolling down my cheeks.
The meadow looked so green,
how was I to know?

Perhaps my feet picked the thorns
not unaware at all, 
but subconscious
toes seeking stocking revenge. 

© Emily Bragg 2013

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a feline diagnosis

the back of my throat tastes
chlorine, hard
slick with tears and disbelief
i want a sledgehammer
to rule out all word
give me back my quiet
pain
and take away this raging unseen terror
let me mourn her
not her
give her back
give me her back
i want her curled against my shoulder sleeping
not trailing plastic tubing
and dragging paws.

© Emily Bragg 2013

Apology Epoch

I’ve found myself apologizing to people a lot lately.

I’m not certain if it’s because I’ve been more offensive
Or I’ve just noticed my actions
And the way I can sometimes be both a slap and a distraction
To people.

The attraction of risking others’ emotions is
The Attention, the resultant direction of
Eyes towards my antics, my words.
I’m the first to admit it.

And too often
I don’t look at what I’ve said
Until the later hours, when someone says
“Hey,
That really hit me hard.”

And then I apologize
Because at that point there’s no other words
To make it less stinging, less hard;
Even “I’m sorry” really won’t heal that much
Of the scar.

I say scars, but only ’cause it rhymes;
Maybe there’s been a few times
Where I’ve been so unkind that it cuts so deep
The surrounding tissue puckers and heals awry,
But mostly they’re bumps and bruises,
A few paper cuts.

Don’t think I don’t care, I’m
Scared of what I do when I’m not looking
To the people
I care about.

I know the best solution to my apology condition (my
blatant inattention) would be to
Tone down my actions.
I’ve never really done that.
I don’t know how to backtrack or which
Words lack the stinging smack of
Unintended harassment.

The only solution,
The only viable battle plan is to listen
Instead of speaking
And try to swing it so I don’t seem sullen, don’t attract
Attention with my silence.

Some of my favourite people
Are completely understated.
The ones who say the funniest things
In the quietest voices.

It’s not in my blood to be that way.
But I could quiet what I do,
Save the energy for emergencies and
Say better things.

Draw out this marrow and
Replace it with
Liquid quiet
So I
Have
An endless internal supply.
Quiet
Replicating cells of
Quieter quiet. It grows
Quiet.

I grow
Quiet.

© Emily Bragg 2013