P
Good linens with a fork and knife. We dine
a ritual feast on plates with sour meat.
And next to our inheritance, the wine.
We drink down promises on every street.
Where is your mother’s voice? I heard her praying
as father sprinkled salt upon the bread.
What did He tell you, child of violent …
P
Where does the truth go when you speak?
Is it hiding in shelters, breathing and waiting
as strange feet step inside a home?
Did you set it on fire? Has it suffocated
from smoke still breaching down below?
Did you send it lower, down a ladder,
through a spider’s web of concrete walls,
and bury …
P
a sonnet by Suzanne Musin
The blue and blue, the violet-black, the sea
flies underneath a veil of foamy white
and ripples under, over, into me.
I breathe it in and wallow in the sight.
I cannot write a proper shade of blue
or stretched horizons hiding every land
The pattern on the water, always …
P
a sonnet by Suzanne Musin
Now every night, a thousand creatures fly
From here to there, tonight and night before
So angry that the glass would still deny
Their infiltration through the sliding door
But no! Inside, the terror has begun
As single, flying trespasser appears
In ignorance, believes its victory won
Full breach accomplished; …