michael brownstein
WHY I NEVER
READ DIRECTIONS
Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published throughout the literary
press. His work has appeared in The Café Review, American Letters and
Commentary, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Free Lunch, The
Pacific
Review and many others. He has been featured in a number of online poetry
journals including Milk and
poetrysuperhighway.com. In addition, he
has eight chapbooks including The Shooting Gallery (Samisdat Press), Poems from
the Body Bag (winner of the Ommation Press Poetry Chapbook contest), A Period of
Trees (Snark Press), and What Stone Is (Fractal Edge Press).
Brownstein taught upper grade science in the
Chicago
public schools; continues his studies with authentic African instruments;
conducts grant writing workshops for educators; and records
performance pieces with grants from the City of Chicago ’s Cultural
Affair Department, the BP Leadership Grant, and others.
--because of Bridget Gage-Dixon
When you open the box,
a bookcase, a desk, perhaps a go-cart,
do not read the directions.
Empty the contents across the room--
the arias, your weight in empathy,
every word said in anger, vowels,
memories of passion and dismay,
temper tantrums, the cost of nagging.
Litter the floor with emotion and logic,
that song you always sing in the shower,
and let the adult in you become a rainbow.
Soon something will become what it is to become,
a place to sit upon, to implode,
the very elementals found in a black hole.
Go with it. Do not let go.
Love, too, is an adventure.
Soon everything will make sense,
the wind will calm down,
you will join a pack of clouds,
and when you rain, let the design of water
dripping across windows,
evaporating on walkways,
matting hair into something else,
explode into the energy of a bus shelter,
everyone running to it until
it is so crowded only laughter,
delight, hair dripping wet,
clothing drenched, cleansed hands,
only shared experiences matters.