Joni Brown

Kit list as follows//
5.      Thermal layers, three pinched close. Damp down coat, helmet under hood. Traced aran gloves, darned woollen socks. Leggings; opaque.
6.      The stove hangs in the mud, three prongs before blue flame. Flickering coils pour against the plastic. It lifts my stomach to a head and folds slashes into the warmth.
7.      The bottom zip is broken so its feet poke pushed out, and the rip on the puckered hood has grown wider with time, sharp hand stitches trickling down the seams. I lay my body between the curves of its pouch, wrapped above each strewn gust.
8.      Tin foil unravels from its packaged creases, tucking beneath the bow of the mattress. Below it sits thin canvas, then the snowcapped soil that circles my den.
9.      Now examine its mound of silver, warping each edge above synthetic fabric, pinning between body and ground. Peers back: a chicken wrung raw, pecked to the splits of its crackled heat.


Brown (b.2003) moves through wildness as a practice of repetition and renewal. As paths and circles connect and collide, each thread amasses a kaleidoscopic map, embroidering a guide of its travels and passings as the needle drags and ebbs through the wake.

@joni.pb
jonipixie.brown@gmail.com

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