Julie Ann Baker Brin

Julie Ann Baker Brin
4 Poems


Alien Landing Pad

Twelve tall they stand, round and
robust, in the big river’s curve, just
West of the Keeper. Supercharged

light poles landmark the central
vortex, a power place of many names,
glowing amethyst tonight—all but one.

He has a ruby blush, standing out
within the circle, though set apart.
He is you, so obvious, different,

an outlier unlike the others only
because of a burned out bulb, yet
in some ways a much brighter star.

 

 

 

Dallas to Wichita in the Passenger Seat

I am a wiggly worm, a kid again.
Squirm. Cannot sit still in my bucket,
shake and rattle, turn and twist.
Jumpiness. Enthusiasm blends with
impatience. Feet full of nerves, pressing

imaginary controls. Energy expending,
spent. Budget the backbone;
six hours may be too expensive.
Pet the mind. Soothe, smooth, stroke,
before my inside lining shakes

loose, before the ligaments tense
and tear. Alternately bone lazy
and rakish angle crazy. Deliberately
breathe; abundantly conserve.
Point, pout, roll, swerve, stop.

 

 

 

I, CACTUS

Sand under my stems, prickly
spikes sticking out, poking in.
Dry spines conserve water, wait
for electrical storms. I could
bloom so wild given the right

moment, the welcome clime.
Then someone would want
to connect; bees and butterflies
would hover for my gold. I,
the bristling stoic to the outside

world, an inside sweet and longing.
Patient, succulent, communing
with whomever happens along,
at the mercy of the ground
beneath and the heavens above.

 

 

 

Outside at Mort’s

Martini bar: jazz – joy – vibe – smiles,
little bird sounds and animal horns,
sweet night. If only to be in this cadence

forever: breeze – perfume – smoke – ether
moves my heart, my limbs. This is what I get
dressed up for. Feeling intense, feeling warm. Break

time: animation – conversation – vibration – libation,
how I long for a dizzy night out on the town.
Get around, get down, let my straps fall, twist

my bracelet – rings – earrings – earlobes.
Fidgeting, flirting, listening and pretending to,
feeling important, feeling alive.

 

 

 

 

By day, Julie Ann Baker Brin works for public broadcasting… not behind a microphone, but red tape. So, by night, she prefers to use the other side of her brain for creative endeavors. Julie is a new member of the Kansas Authos Club and her portfolio is at juliebrin.org.