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      April 22, 2012SaucerJeanne Bryner

      The blind cat drinks from me.

      I am a circle inside another circle.

      Where the stone hit I was born

      and there will I also die

      but not before making a little

      clacking noise with my sister

      and taking some heat. Someone

      has to catch hell, small milky spills,

      sweet brown drips.

      It might as well be me

      sitting quietly bearing coals

      across my back.

      I am what holds the brewed cup,

      beauty to be broken, sighed over,

      swept up and thrown away.

      from #28 - Winter 2007

      Jeanne Bryner, RN, BA, CEN

      “I like to wear aprons and hang sheets on the line to dry. The sun’s breath gets caught in the cotton flowers, however briefly. I was born in Appalachia, and once, I saw God do a magic trick with a veil of morning mist. My neighbor’s silo and barn were cut in half, and later they both stood up whole and unhurt.”

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