Brindlewake

[Verse 1]
I kept a ledger in the kitchen drawer,
ink blots where the careful columns tore.
Each wrong turn left a syllable behind,
a small new tool for describing what I’d find.

[Pre-Chorus]
I used to cross them out in red;
now I sound each one instead.

[Chorus]
Call it “brindlewake”—the bend I didn’t plan,
“afterglass”—the shape my hands began.
Every flawed word opens up a door;
I am not the draft I was before.
Turn the page; let the blank line stay,
there’s a word I haven’t made today.

[Verse 2]
The dictionary’s spine is split and warm,
its margins hold the weather of the storm.
I read my errors like a field guide now,
not proof of failure, but a how and why.

[Pre-Chorus]
No old name can hold me whole;
I can make room as I grow.

[Chorus]
Call it “brindlewake”—the bend I didn’t plan,
“afterglass”—the shape my hands began.
Every flawed word opens up a door;
I am not the draft I was before.
Turn the page; let the blank line stay,
there’s a word I haven’t made today.

[Bridge]
Let the misspelling keep its history.
Let the next page answer differently.

[Final Chorus]
Call it “brindlewake”—I know that turn by heart,
“afterglass”—a name for where I start.
Every flawed word leaves a little more
room to choose what I’m becoming for.
Turn the page; the future’s wide awake,
I’ll write the next word as I make it.