I meant to lap up the early fall air like a dog.
I meant to give myself to the night again.
I meant to feel like myself,
to suck every last drop of life from the corner moments,
the ones no one seeks out, which
reward you when you sit and listen.
I want to sit and listen.
I miss the bullfrogs’ mooing and the distant yapping
of the coyotes.
I know I’ve said it but I’ll keep saying it—
I miss the crunch of gravel under my feet
I miss my little stone towers
and the space under the oak tree where
I’d float inside the darkness.
I feel that I’ve lost the nucleus of myself
now that I’m left pressing my nose
against a screen door just to get a taste of
the evening air.
Moriah Brown
Moriah Brown is a poet, novelist, and full-time student at Syracuse University working towards a degree in creative writing. Her poetry has been published in Creation Magazine, The Woolf, and The Passionfruit Review, among others, and has also been featured in Alchemy and Miracles Anthology and Bimbo Feminist Anthology. She is from Fort Worth, Texas, and loves writing, birds, and her cat Nala.Â