Brandon Shane




In December, I opened the windows,
and let the frost in. Birds were nowhere 
to be heard, let alone seen; a cardinal nest 
abandoned by a bedside tree, 
which reminded me how the local church 
had been knocked down for a chain store, 
which then closed due to lack of business; 
like a poorly tied boat, the rope snaps 
and it begins to drift away.

The red barn collapsed from weight 
of a generational blizzard, but the wood 
was getting rickety, and none had savings 
for repair. Footprints were abundant, 
like scribbles on a boring assignment, 
an old car covered by a tarp. 

One day, the roof made good conversation 
with the second floor, and their relationship 
had moved to the basement, 
which meant everything between 
had been destroyed, 
built before the great depression, 
which I felt 
was an apt description 
for just about 
everything.





Brandon Shane is a poet, born in Yokosuka, Japan. You can see his work in the Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Sophon Lit, Marbled Sigh, RIC Journal, Heimat Review, Ink in Thirds, Discretionary Love, among others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach.