Brianna Randall Poetry

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I am here

and you are not

as my breasts feed our child

flaccid and stretched

as the ties that bound us so tightly once

upon a time.

I am here

and you are there

watching me in my misery


too selfishly miserable yourself

to offer solace or reprieve from this

looping nightmare.

I am here


my hands as they wash our dishes

my nails bitten to the quick

in solidarity with yours

the backs stained with speckled sun damage

from our year at sea.

I am here


my fingers grasping at air

as you turn away from the echo of laughter

as you turn away from all you are

all we are

your back an implacable expanse of familiar

foreign territory.

I am here

and I won't leave you

to the misery of your mind

to the demons that overcome you

become you

at the end of every day.

I am here

to raise our child

to repair our ties

to sail from this barren shore

to find the sun again.

I am here

waiting, mourning, hoping

that you will hold my speckled hand again

that, one night, some night

you will turn toward me to say

“I am here, too.”


About the Author

Brianna Randall

Brianna Randall lives in Missoula, Montana where she toggles not-so-deftly between chasing her young son, running her own business, and fantasizing about sailing off to a deserted island (again). Her work has appeared in Scary Mommy, Outside, Backpacker, and several travel magazines.

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