By: Susan Mayer Brumel

Goose and Fish

Sometimes, I succumb
to suffocating sadness
that force-feeds
my heart
my soul
my madness

The goose.

Salmon river-race
through my veins –
the pressure pains

And I am

that forsaken fish:
stuffed with
vulnerability and fear
singled out—
and eaten by a bear.

The Dig

With a trowel, you dug
into my mind, into my heart —

Sifted the broken fragments
through your fingers —

Laid the tiny shovel down
beside the pieces of me —

And walked away…

Demise of Underpinnings

I have no eyes
to see what you despise
I have no tongue
to speak evil words or lies

I have no fingers
to touch the emptiness
I have no hands
to shield myself in the abyss

I have no arms
to keep you in my fold
I have no legs
to walk me through the cold

I have no feet
to hunt for what’s been tossed
I have no heart
to feel the pain of what’s been lost

I have no soul
to search for life that’s ended
I have no mind
to try to comprehend it

I have no understanding
the demise of underpinnings
I have no will —
to go back to the beginning

dismissed

seduction falls on vacant eyes —
dispassionate, side glances
I gesture shyly —
withdrawing my advances

Taranis, Celtic Thunder-God, (hope for sufferers of long covid)

Relentless, rolling thunder
rumbles in my brain
Apprehensively I lie in wait
for lightning and the rain —

Before me stands Taranis,
thunderbolt and wheel in hand
At his feet an offering —my head
abruptly lands

I choose not to question
this powerful deity;
what may be his intention,
or why he has chosen me

The rolling thunder rumbles louder,
pounds upon my startled heart!
Strikes of lightning slash the sky,
causing flooding rains to start

With eleven votive chariot wheels,
on each eight golden spokes
I am adorned…
Taken to Achilles River
I am cast in, and reborn

There, in perfect silence
upon the river’s shore,
I lay prostrate, I am whole —
the headless sacrifice no more

rainbow goddess rebuff

anticipation mounts
in expectation:

cool blue glow in firelight
dance of frilly silhouette
satin ripples smooth on skin
ballet cloud’s sweet rousing scent

waiting…
sometimes the bud rebuffs the bloom