She wrote with sound and fury. She wrote like a Warrior Poet, and she won her freedom.
She awakened in
the Spring of her 49 th
year. Her brain tripped
to a space she’d never seen
to say she was past
living eggshell topic.
Breathe deep, meditate, pat dogs.
Run, run, Susan, run!
The romantic hopes of yesteryear
Fogs the mind, bites the ear. Kicks your rear.
***With a nod to John Denver, my favorite male recording artist.
Hit hard hack; panic
attack. Take me away. Blue
Isle vaca. TODAY!
I apologize.
My truth to cutting for you?
If 1 in 3; you?
Breathe. Just remember
to breathe. Spinning. Confusion.
Aren’t supposed to, dad.
Twilight, you magi-
cal time. Favor my pen and
my rhyme. Form sublime.
Tick tock. Tock tick. Sick.
Knock knock. Who’s there? Hope the doc-
tor cares. Hope card pays.
Birthday we share- and
hearts, too. Hand in hand, we tri-
umph. Ne’er to forsake.
Tear stained face. Sister
holds me. We all sin, honey.
Turn grief to service.
Friend thinks sinfully
Susan, is spot on. A fake,
a loser, a con…
Nicotine you dev-
ilish thing. Wrapped me up like
a precious ring. Cut.
Susan Awakening 