David Johnson
Christopher Smart
knelt on these floors.
He praised winter,
he wrote Geoffrey
on the walls. He shouted
I’m barefoot.
I lost my rosary.
Praying in Bedlam
used to be easy for the dead.
He stood. The asylum
filled with sparrows.
He crossed himself
and reached out an arm.
David Johnson was born in New England and lives in the Deep South. His poems have appeared in several publications, including Still, Stirring, and The Bitter Oleander. He is currently a PhD candidate in creative writing at the Center for Writers at the University of Southern Mississippi.
