Eiders pluck their own down
to line the nest, softer ground
for incubation, but it’s closer
contact, uninsulated mother-
breast that warms the shells
until they crack, bringing out
the hatchlings. The wind is
shifting, love. Let me make
a place from every delicate
fiber of my body for whatever
might become. Settle near
my unguarded, burning heart.
Let everything break open.
—
Jennifer Browne’s interests are accumulative. She is the author of American Crow (Beltway Editions, 2024) and the poetry chapbooks whisper song (tiny wren publishing, 2023) and The Salt of the Geologic World (Bottlecap Press, 2023). Her work has recently appeared in Poets for Science, Humana Obscura, Trailer Park Quarterly, and One Sentence Poems.
