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Clouds, Begin Here by Susan Rich

Monday, March 29, 2010 12:08 PM | Debbi Lester (Administrator)

It is so hard to say what the dead really want.

In the lost fires of the notebook, words stumble

down the columns of green and white paper.

In the notebook of the unknown index, blank

description, we lose our blue hours. Begin with forget

shore line, heart line, forgive me serum.

If we’re lucky, the mind sits up straight

in our interior garden, our house of sky

the remodeled one car garage. Open the suitcase

of ink and erasures; let language spill out

in mid-air. Between ferryboat and bicycle,  

between daybreak and meteor shower

we create something holy:  

apples and crackers and quiet.


Susan Rich
Seattle, Washington

Susan Rich is the author of three collections of poetry including
The Alchemist’s Kitchen just published by White Pine Press.
Recent poems appear in the Antioch Review, Harvard Review,
and The Southern Review. Visit her at www.susanrich.net.
   
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