nighttime mindwanders

there’s a time in cool hours of dark
where time doesn’t stop, but suspends
oil in water, hovering
and the mind takes a quiet walk across the lawn
never stopping, ever padding ever so
quiet
whispering technicolour switchback stories
gathering a handful of violets, a nest
of infant shale birds
quiet
as the stars hide coy behind flared
cirrostratus geisha fans
eyes twinkling
and the soft-furred rabbits skitter across moon-drenched grass.

© Emily Bragg 2013

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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

A Quiet Ache

I missed you this morning. It snowed, and I found a quiet ache for you
Wrapping itself around my shoulders.
Not the hot, sharp longing of new lovers,
But a soft want for your arms around my waist
Your face buried in that place where my shoulder
Becomes my neck.
A quiet ache.
I wanted to pull you on like a sweater
Knitted from all the time we’ve weathered together,
Each purled row, each knitted truce;
Uneven, gorgeous stitches creating the strongest cloth I know.
And though we each held a needle,
The wool held some fault
Spun of unintentions and
Faith undone.
Kindle me now, love.
Stuttering romance, tiptoed words,
Relearning the language of intimacy
And solidarity;
See?
Too long, darkness.
This abstinence of honey leaves me parched.

A little something I wrote a month or so ago, but lost it when my hard drive was wiped. This version is based off what I can remember.

© Emily Bragg 2013