Leah Browning Poems
|1.||Annie, On A Summer Afternoon||2/12/2006|
|2.||We Argue About The Aesthetics Of Garbage||5/14/2007|
|3.||New Mexico As The Heartland||5/14/2007|
|5.||On The Drive Back To Durango, I Wake Up In Taos||6/15/2007|
|6.||I Go Back In Time And Rescue My Mother||6/15/2007|
|8.||Looking For What Is Lost||4/2/2008|
|9.||Learning To Play Piano At Thirty||8/14/2008|
|10.||The Religion Of Everyday Things||8/14/2008|
|12.||Grandma Bea Brushing Her Hair||9/26/2005|
|16.||Making Love To The Same Man For Fifteen Years||11/25/2008|
|18.||On A Winter Morning In Minnesota, I Drink Tea And Think Of Sarah||8/14/2008|
|19.||Your Body Has Its Own Memory||4/22/2006|
|20.||Valentine's Day, And We Are Still Separated||9/26/2005|
|21.||The Patchwork Poem||8/14/2008|
Comments about Leah Browning
The Patchwork Poem
Skin scrubbed clean and glowing
after a shower, the scent of shampoo.
Lying in bed on a winter morning
with the baby asleep between us.
Our fingers pressed together
in the dark of a movie theater.
The sound of laughter. Always,
the sound of laughter.
and back home again.
Night by the river.
What you said, what I said.
I’ll bind these things together,
trim the loose threads, work until
the separate pieces
form one piece—skin-soft,
yet durable, too, because
I mean it to last you ...
The kite was a free gift
from the insurance company:
a flimsy plastic cut-out of Snoopy
with a complicated network of strings
on the back. We had to wait
until after work, ten o’clock, to take it
outside. Hushed, we stood on the narrow plot
of grass in front of the apartment and let it go,
bobbing in the wind. This was before