Details |
Susan Wei Poem
Never write a poem about the sky,
she says,
that blue and blue and blue
interrupted by shape-shifters,
squawking crows, grumbling
aircraft.
It’s been done.
Besides, the day is tranquil,
disinclined to fuss.
The porch rails studiously etch
the sun into diagonal slats.
A silver spider practices ballet
across them
A chickadee chirps predictably.
If you could breathe and
see and know, she says,
all at once,
the glimmering line that bisects the air--
the one the spiders left behind--
the absence of wind, of wings,
of words—the morning itself,
woken with the slurp of ripe pears
and the ashes of a dream--
that would be your poem.
Copyright © Susan Wei | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Susan Wei Poem
I believe in oceans
because I read
I read that they are green, and gray, or blue,
amethyst when daylight packs its cloudy bags
I believe in oceans
that they are more than waves and water
that there are beings who breathe inside them
plankton that drift in the current
algae, seagrass that wave to invisible companions
jellyfish, dangerous and translucent--
I believe in these.
Giant clams, who slam their engraved doors
on breakfast,
Phosphorescent jellyfish, undulating their many legs.
I have mused on the brittleness of crabs
and whales so colossal
that a planet might have swum by.
I tread brokenly on the constant earth
bruising when I fall
gulping the uncolored air
anxious for the future
believing in oceans.
Copyright © Susan Wei | Year Posted 2025
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