Devonne Brown

Living or Waiting?

I’ve both lived my life and waited to die daily.

I do both several times within the hour, living my best life and living to die. Have you seen my schedule, who I spend the time of my day with? I’m not alone in my quiet despair. I manage multiple personalities, disordered, ordered, ODD, ADD, autistic, on the spectrum, off the spectrum, on the rainbow everywhere. I don’t always do a bang up job of it. 

 What am I doing here? 

I fell asleep right after a lovely half glass of wine

Before the evening news went off, or it got dark outside

None of those were unpleasant at all.

I’m writing of climbing walls made of plastic obstacles so you can feel invincible, 

It’ll take your breath away too.

I’m reading about snake handlers in a church up some holler in Tennessee. 

I’m reading. Is that waiting to die or living?  

O hell, where’s a preacher when you need one?

Mom wouldn’t allow us to read, it got on her nerves. 

She said that’s all she wanted to do, and that she’d never get anything done, 

so we weren’t allowed to do it. 

Except we did anyway, all of us, even Mom. 

Best stay away from Mom for a generous fifteen minutes, forty-five if you really wanted to feel safe after she’s been reading. 

She’d put that book down, grouchy from a nap

Grouchy.

If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy means something.