top of page

I have always been waiting for something else

Brandon Shane

Rooftops broken by years of rain,

sunshine breaching ceilings

where red tiles have been displaced,

and light only comes during the day;

a girl talks to a crow

and it lands on her hand,

she sneaks it bread every morning,

and it shows there's more

to life than what all the dull thinkers say.

a mother returns to a cooling cherry pie,

only to find a bed of fur, feathers,

and her husband roars from behind,

kisses her neck, shoulders,

a chariot lays smoke across the sky,

and later that peculiar evening,

she confesses that God can be no other

than a woman; he waves dismissively

but then thinks about it all night.

I entered an abandoned train station

and played a dusty piano

center stage;

awkwardly striking chords,

and embarrassingly

hid my face

only to hear a gentle whisper

failure is the only way

like the pen of a wise scribe

who's seen enough senseless wars

that they admire youth,

and despise the old men

who never had to suffer

their orders.

I tapped my finger

against a whiteboard,

waiting for students to

fill an empty classroom,

like a begonia garden

in the heap of winter

dormant until summer.

Brandon is a poet, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Sophon Lit, Marbled Sigh, RIC Journal, Heimat Review, among others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach.
bottom of page