Author: Susan Manners

July 16

The 25 year old me would never believe I’d become an early riser
Thirty years or so later I’m enchanted by the hours
The younger was convinced were meant for sleep
Or tortured wakefulness
Today’s cool and still summer coffee morning renews
Not yet the hour when lawn mowers invade
A buoying cacophony of birdsong inhabits my ears
A watering can as best friend
One step ahead of drowning summer heat
My meditation in nurturing
A missed day becomes an impatiens’ doom
Now, at summer’s midpoint, locusts insist on intruding
Crashing over syncopated trills, twitters, warbles
Still, distinct screeches overflow my morning world
A myriad of arias blend to a blaring cicada crescendo

Orlando Pulse

How does it feel to be a lesbian in the wake of Orlando Pulse?
How did it feel to be an African American in the wake of Charleston?
How did it feel to be a child in the wake of Sandy Hook?
How did it feel to be a student in the wake of Virginia Tech?
Drowning in waves of Hate is Hate
I fight to by buoyed by Love is Love
But on this day when tears flow and leaden arms resist motion
Frozen in loss and sadness
Unsuccessfully resisting imagining
Remembering a dim lit pulsing beat of the latest dance mix
A sweaty safe place with cranberry juice topped drinks
Where gorgeous girls swirl and shirtless boys dance free
Imagining the surprise, horror, fear, carnage where minutes before
Laughs, kisses, staggering happiness swayed
How does it feel to be a lesbian in the wake of Orlando Pulse?
Like any confounded American outraged by hate
Living in a bubble of love and perceived safety
Wondering if 49 gay lives will spur action
When stunning inaction followed every past slaughter

Illuminating

The way the morning sun comes over the house
Illuminating, actually floodlighting, the tallest lean tree
Guarding the edge of the yard tucked close to the fence
The growing glow marks the morning’s progress
I’m not sure how to capture the spectacular slash of light
Brilliant heat cutting a diagonal across the solid trunk
Late spring mornings I watch this light show play out
The captivating spotlight shifts and dazzles
Lighting up branch after green leaf branch
A focused deliberate crawl of yellow light
Stooping lower, passing across rough bark
Nature’s clock, finally touching grass

In Dreams

In sleep and that dreamy state
Sleepiness before sleep sets in
A mysterious rope ladder hanging
Barely within reach swaying slightly
White rungs and gray rope falling
From darkness a black cloud obscuring
All but the lowest bars nothing but
White emptiness surrounding the
Swinging in half sleep I imagine
Lithely leaping to grab the lowest
Rung strongly steadily climbing hand
Over hand (I’m a younger woman climbing
But it’s my dream) towards the unknown
My fear of heights forgotten and absent
The natural swinging away from each step
Challenge that a rope ladder tends to pose
Neither obstacle materializes when the
Reaching and climbing begins
Though I feel strong and capable
I never progress beyond a few steps
More often though in my sleepy daze
It’s just the mystery ladder hanging
Perplexing
Disconcerting
An unknown purpose

Yearning Perfection

The naked figure is perfection in its twisted reaching
Thick solid timber creates parenthesis and crooked
Slingshot shapes arching from the enormous gnarled
Trunk squatting husky while countless tiny branches
Shoot in a thousand divers directions each striving
Wand stretching toward the enormous gray white forever
The exposed hulking giant’s adornment long overdue
Impatiently waiting overwhelming shame percolates
Longing bursting buds yearning luscious leafy green
Pining for change craggy perfection looms insufficient

Evil

When they reported his sentence
15 months
What I heard was 15 years (because that would make more sense)
My first thought
That’s not long enough
For running a crushing freight train through children’s lives
But it was only 15 months
15 months
There’s actually a statute of limitations
On destroying innocence
Crushing trust
Stomping out optimism
Planting a vile boot print on a half formed soul
This hateful man preyed on children
While wielding power
And haughtily peering down
Casting judgment
The portrait of hypocrisy
And evil
15 months

Origin

“Did you escape or will you be spending the
Night on that couch with the ancient Quakers?”
The question was remarkable in peculiarity
Out of context who’d know what it meant
But once it was asked that was the joy
The myriad of mysterious possibilities
Secret journeys unknown adventures
Beginnings with unimagined/imagined
Twists
A story’s innocent fantastic origin

Sleep Please

An endless day finally narrows
The light…
No
It’s the dark that’s in sight
Clarity fades muscles ache
Burdened lids droop
Every sinew craves renewal
Succumb
Pure surrender satisfies
As sleep’s ravenous appetite
Consumes consciousness
Good night