Susan's Blog

Tuesday, April 8, 2008


To think of all I never knew —
The brilliance of music, the sugared hue
Enhanced perhaps by flickers and gaps,
Of fragile, or evaded synapse.

The pockets into which I fall
The descending curtain, the heavy pall
When time expands, and lung explodes
Have something to do with flawed brain nodes?

There’s more, of course; my tapestry
my past, my now, the woven me
The way I was loved, and taught to be
The paths that I choose, the way I see

But now, to know a piece of why
Gives such relief — a triumphant cry
And tenderness towards my forty five years
Pale green hope for fewer tears.

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