On Running and Recovery: In Haiku​

by Maia Brown-Jackson

I think I might be
mere fragile defiance at
this point, and any
 
glancing blow might just
shatter me. I’ve learned not
let anyone in.
 
             I let my ankles
             and wrists hang free, my fingers
             and toes dangle for
 
             I know the monsters
             are more likely in my bed
             than underneath it.
 
                                       (Darling, when they say
                                       flirting with disaster, they’re
                                       talking about me.)
So again, I run.
I flee the past
but race straight into the fire;
 
I clutch at organs
spilling out, refuse to let
it happen quite yet--
 
for this cage of ribs
still holding the heart, always
fleeing, for once waits--
 
​             Or do I run once
             more, anywhere but here, to
             somewhere I’ll find--what?
 
             If I fall down the
             rabbit hole, might I not be
             walking casualty?
 
I’m overcome with
longingyearningpining for
something I can’t name.
​
Could I, one day, shine
gold and turn my mistakes to
art? Might I try and--

---

Maia Brown-Jackson, after receiving the incredibly practical literature degree from the University of Chicago, braved the myriad esoteric jobs that inevitably followed, ultimately straying to Iraq to volunteer with survivors of ISIS genocide. Inspired with a new focus, she caffeinated herself through a graduate degree in terrorism and human rights and now investigates fraud, waste, and abuse of humanitarian aid in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. She is an award-winning, pushcart-nominated writer.