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Lexington Poetry Month
I Meet a Man from Botswana
article by
Brandyn Johnson

I Meet a Man from Botswana

He didn’t shake my hand,
he used it as a fulcrum

lifting me into his amber eyes
which bore tunnels through mine

to my naked brain.
His convincing voice –so sincere–

as though nice to meet you
was Truth. I believed him

while his eyes, his voice chimed
throughout the rest of my afternoon

like the Mourning Doves
I’d listen to from a pile

of my grandmother’s comforters:
not gone, but shifted

to that place where feather
memories compress to down,

where, if we’re not careful, we
forget we inhabit ancient seas

and sleep wrapped in ancient flight.

8 responses to “I Meet a Man from Botswana”

  1. beautifully written from beginning to end…

  2. I’ve missed reading your stuff Brandyn! Excellent!

  3. Aaron Slatten says:

    saw the fulcrum shaking movement and I don’t see much with my brain so literally wired

  4. Edelweiss Meadows-Millstone says:


  5. mtpoet says:

    Your words have captured a movement across the page and down.

  6. Brandyn Johnson says:

    Thanks, everybody. You guys are keeping me writing.

  7. Joseph Allen Nichols says:

    All strong, but “shifted” to the end soars even higher.

  8. Rachel Khosrowshahi says:

    Nice work

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