Norah Brady (18)
the front page
Look, there is a man in prison for finding bodies
among bodies. Look, there is the moon, and there is the
flowering tree. There is the plan to put the poison
underground, lock it in cement and throw away
the key. Look, there we are, splayed on the grass,
stuck like butterflies with the sun and look,
there are our hands, the mammal things we own.
Look, there is the book I want to write, and there
is the water rising, look, this might have been a path
lined with trees that I have walked before but I will
lie in every star-speckled field until I die. Look,
the marsh at the margin of city sings, it writhes,
which means it dances. Look, there are planes in the sky
and everything has its purpose. The graveyards and their
pink petals, pathways, the egret like a kite over the
highway. Look, someday the moon will be shuttled
away by gravity and there will be nothing we can do
to stop it.
Norah Brady is a moon enthusiast, haunted house, and mountain poet. They were a runner-up for Youth Poet Laureate of Boston in 2020. Their poetry and short fiction can be found in Rookie magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, and Blue Marble Review, with work forthcoming in COUNTERCLOCK. Norah lives in Boston, MA.
the front page
Look, there is a man in prison for finding bodies
among bodies. Look, there is the moon, and there is the
flowering tree. There is the plan to put the poison
underground, lock it in cement and throw away
the key. Look, there we are, splayed on the grass,
stuck like butterflies with the sun and look,
there are our hands, the mammal things we own.
Look, there is the book I want to write, and there
is the water rising, look, this might have been a path
lined with trees that I have walked before but I will
lie in every star-speckled field until I die. Look,
the marsh at the margin of city sings, it writhes,
which means it dances. Look, there are planes in the sky
and everything has its purpose. The graveyards and their
pink petals, pathways, the egret like a kite over the
highway. Look, someday the moon will be shuttled
away by gravity and there will be nothing we can do
to stop it.
Norah Brady is a moon enthusiast, haunted house, and mountain poet. They were a runner-up for Youth Poet Laureate of Boston in 2020. Their poetry and short fiction can be found in Rookie magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, and Blue Marble Review, with work forthcoming in COUNTERCLOCK. Norah lives in Boston, MA.