AFTER THE SEVENTH DAY – a poem by Michael H. Brownstein


The eighth day, well rested, the miracle of universe complete,
the dark dung of darkness and sad light cleansed and organized.
Forgive us our moment when all prayer becomes short stories,
shell shock inability to listen to vibrations of silence,
people wading into the brakes of words–
the sharp shark shard of vowels and their choking curves,
consonants threading into a grand forest choir
each stitch a slip in the wrong direction.
Forgive us our greed and simple idiocy, our lists,
our tears in flesh and psyche, our anger, our augers,
our metal plates, forgive us for taking the deeds
holding the great desk together, forgive us the robberies
of paper and light, of organization and disbelief,
forgive us for stealing purity in psalm and purity in image,
forgive us for every nine day week after week,
forgive us for forgetting where we are, where we come from,
where we belong, forgive us the miracle of rest.


Michael H. Brownstein’s work has appeared in The Café ReviewSouth Florida Poetry Journal, American Letters & CommentarySkidrow PenthouseMeridian Anthology of Contemporary PoetryThe Pacific ReviewPoetry Super Highway and others. He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011).

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