Saffron Monk – a poem by Heather M. Browne

Saffron Monk

The saffron monk sits still
Upon the bench of wood
Feet tucked
Wrapped round and round in streams of cloth
Rippling rivers rise

He is a mountain
A hive of bees
Honey held sacred within his soul
His chant a buzzing calm
His offering

He is a giant cinnamon bear
Warm and rough giving way
To wait
It is not yet his time
Patient, he will not disturb the fish
And reverent, hums

 

Heather M. Browne is a faith-based psychotherapist, recently nominated for the Pushcart Award, published in the Orange Room, Boston Literary Review, Page & Spine, Eunoia Review, Poetry Quarterly, Red Fez, Electric Windmill, Apeiron, The Lake, Knot, mad swirl.  Red Dashboard published two collections: Directions of Folding and Altar Call of Trumpets.

Published by

Sarah

poet, tutor, runner, cat lady

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