It feels like blood or Clouds that Cannot Cry
A poem by Theodore Browne

It feels like blood or Clouds that Cannot Cry

I walk into the local supermarket,
6 th and Elm. Hopeful.
This sunny afternoon,
only a few clouds out today.
Inside, the floors shine,
white clouds cut into blocks
beneath my feet. The lights above,
tiny artificial moons, everything
glistens because of them: green apples,
yellow bananas, freshly cut
red meats at the butcher’s counter.
On the floor, I find a newspaper,
belongs upfront at the news rack,
it tells the story of a young black man:
Jayland Walker, 25, most sincere, most
kindhearted person, he was a brother
to me, friends say. Was a wrestler, too.
He’s one of the sweetest, his coach said.
I see his picture, his bright smile, his black
wavy hair, his brown eyes, a dark autumn night.
46 police bullets tore him.
Had no gun. His face. His cracked body.
Can’t shake it.
Drop the carton of eggs in my hands,
bend down, white, broken shells
everywhere. The yellow, thick
yoke. Sticky. All over my fingers.
It feels like blood,
it feels like blood.
My racing heart,
searching for a way
out. I am sweating,
my face, hot. I know how
clouds that cannot rain feel like.
I know how they feel on days like this.

About the Author:

Theodore Browne received his Bachelor’s in English from the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, and his M.A. and Ph.D. are from the University of Nebraska. He is the recipient of several teaching and scholarly awards, including the winner of three Teacher-of-the-Year awards. He is a Professor of English who teaches undergraduate, graduate, and honors courses and is the Chair of the Department of Language and Literature at Abilene Christian University. He is the author of two scholarly books, a best-selling children’s book author, and a published poet.

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