CIRCLING

artwork: ralph murre

CIRCLING

by Susan Tepper

I say we are one

And the same

Sleep-travelers

Huddled under

The same blanket

Sooner or later

Committing

The same crimes—

So why try and

Separate

The inevitable yolk

From the white

When all around us

Brethren die gasping

Circling

What seems to be

The forgotten path.  

~ previously published in The Stony Thursday Book

Aftershocks

artwork: ralph murre

Aftershocks

by Susan Tepper

The veil has creased the morning

into aftershocks— an unmade bed

will stay unmade, wet towels

drape an uncertain future—

about this place, did you see

the garden turn crumbling gray

during the winter storms

It was a matter of privacy.

You rushed to set the stones

back where nature had upended

But, still—

~ previously published in The Green Door

Tangled

artwork: ralph murre

Tangled

by Susan Tepper

Scrape my face— find

vines and what I want

leave tangled—

there were countries

cut in sections

viable yet invisible

but for leanings— a shoulder

against a train window

raindrops blinding trees

beyond the reach of

what was cold

You clutched a coat

promised again to be sorry.

~ first published in Poetry Salzburg Review

Why I Can't Be Your Lover

artwork: ralph murre

Why I Can’t Be Your Lover

by Susan Tepper

It was about the long stretch 

of body—

and rumpled sheets

Bodies on sheets, mine shorter

on top of your long body—

the milk caressing the pitcher

and traffic and the outside

rushing past high draped windows 

over-stuffed chair, a dresser,

a floor lamp bent at the odd angle

~ first published in The Somerville News

Away the Winter

photoart: ralph murre

Away the Winter

by Susan Tepper

As with the maple your leaves

come off in silent streams

Litter the bed and on the floor

crunching where you

meant to keep

away the winter

hiding behind curtains

crouched in the rafters

Have you heard the windows

gasp— cold and so dark 

surely they have died too.

~ previously published in ROPES

Subtropic

from a poster in buenos aires, artist unknown

Subtropic

by Susan Tepper

If you come to lie

under his sheet,

sweat soaked

night a crumbling vein

blue-black swells

along the beach

in sunken dreams

you will find

ship notes jammed

into salt-scale bottles

waves that beat a pier

half-leaning—

you know this torture

rustling your ears 

that sound

transparent as glass

your arms are rods

and every fish

swam these waters

trembling as one

the way light goes yellow,

wavers, a storm

moving down the coast—

foggy you grip

with your thighs

as the water loosens

lunging forward

on someone’s command

~ first published in The Stony Thursday Book