Brave

This is the summer
I learned that bravery tastes like fear,
bad Friday nights in the back of your throat,
ashen deserts rising, sixteen
vibrating strings humming underneath your skin,
warships tossing on the seas of your stomach.

This is the summer
I learned courage is quiet,
unsure shadows quivering in huffs
and puffs of Bad Wolf Doubt. He’s
always ready to knock your house down.
But mine is made of brick, quivering courage 
setting sail to speak.