Aubade

in fog / i walk myself in quiet / freckled in first light / snow crunches under the weight / of my small body / little clouds / little clouds leave with each breath / my thoughts / still drifting / are not yet racing / i find something nameless 

/ like a sibling of stillness / in the wooded back streets of northampton / sometimes i might see a skunk / slinking / or maybe a rabbit / just doing rabbit things / in school a long time ago i learned that the sun is a star / a big one / 

all the smaller stars sit overhead / some of them with big names and friends / and near dawn / they look behind themselves / into what lives beyond what’s here / and they make room / in their sky / for the sun / i still don’t know / 

what they do / the rabbits / i need to pay / more attention / to the rabbits from now on / I never noticed / or can’t remember / i’m a bad person / i’m a bad person and i’m selfish / i’ve either just cracked open / or i’m cracking / i just need / to have something bad / happen / i need something / bad / to happen right 

now / but i’m too much / of a coward / to make a bad thing / go / and i need / this terrible thing / to happen to me / to explain / why i can’t / find stillness / or friends to keep / or to tell me / why my mother doesn’t like me / the stars /

they make room / even though they can’t see the sun / and the sun gets to be held by their same sky / and the stars / they are still there / but not always / at the same time

Sarena Brown is a visual artist, a poet, and a 2020 Dreamyard fellow. They serve as an editor at Drizzle Review and a poet in Umass’ MFA. They write love poems to the body through gender feelings, queer belonging, and disability. Follow them on instagram @sarenabrownies.