Monthly Archives: April 2012

Night wraps her, familiar

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

Night wraps her, familiar as the old velvet robe empty in the thrift shop window she passes.   Like lover’s whispers recalled in dreams, she knows the voice inside wind, & skin remembers its precise caress, a pattern traced to … Continue reading →

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perigee 1992: 2012 revision

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

the moon is closer to her window than it has ever been, so she must open her arms in ritual embrace that honors the ancient ellipses binding planets & sun in their movements together. Closer, the moon moves her suddenly into rhythm … Continue reading →

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Flea market

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

old glass fractures sun to rainbow splinters hot enough to scorch wood while mechanical birds call back and forth wound singing: neon parrots scarlet macaws ultramarine parakeets chained to the same song over and over, an old skipped record interrupting … Continue reading →

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cold comfort

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

so many sinners loved this woman that his fists (heavy for such a small man) become iron cast to hammer words like coffin nails into this podium or through the palms of the god-become-man he loves so much it should … Continue reading →

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too civilized for my own good

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

My mouth is made to kiss & wants to but in the safety of this restaurant, my lips can only shape words to charm. I laugh, simply to allow sound my breath carries to break against your skin. While I … Continue reading →

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Sunflower

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

My hands are peasant hands shaped to mold clay, knead dough. My feet are most beautiful stained dark purple flat feet made to walk wine from grapes or stomp barn dances. These legs carry a body made for children, widehipped … Continue reading →

Posted in free verse poetry, Poetry 1990-1995 | Tagged | 9 Comments

my grandmother’s table

Posted on April 13, 2012 by Susan L Daniels

I remember her in mirrors when light touches my cheekbones at certain angles, surprising to find her French variations in Irish features. She, who always smelled of Dove soap, is responsible. She taught her daughter to love language. I played … Continue reading →

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