Psalms Her hymn was the calm broadcast, slow dancing on the same frequency as nature’s wild eye. Mary blue-eye, a hum to iron out weathers’ wrinkles. His boomed. Slow beat— war drums, leading harvests through dark root and worm. Compelling sea life to gift. Hallowed in our child eyes. The graveyard is fat now, we recall their songs, chant them in the family home— a sacred keep for old gods.
Jason Brightwell lives in a tiny coastal village tucked along the Chesapeake Bay where he finds himself routinely haunted by one thing or another. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals including: Gravel Magazine, East Coast Literary Review, Phantom Kangaroo, and The Tower, among others.