I wake briefly from my slumber to scratch
the walls of this chosen dark cave
to remind myself of the stark days passing.
Inside, it’s the hum of the air filter,
wind which all but shakes the bamboo loose,
the dog barking at the ghosts of echoes.
And this is what it means to linger
in the mandates of winter, like burnt sage
afraid and betrayed by my own hustle,
full of air that cannot seem to lift,
settled among the dust, resigned
to stay on the cold, porous ground.
I am not yet ready to face the wild
and untamed forest set before me
which I know, I’ve seen, can starve
even the largest beasts among us.
Brooke Lehmann is a poet currently living in Seattle, WA. She received her B.S. in Chemical Engineering from Purdue University and sees poetry as a form of engineering meaning with words. She began writing through her recovery with chronic illness. She also enjoys fashion modeling, kettlebells and restorative yoga. Find her at brookelehmann.com or Instagram: @blehmann524.