Tag: Susan Shaw Sailer

Your Name Is a Wound Is a Song by Susan Shaw Sailer

~ ONE ART ~ 2 Comments

Your Name Is a Wound Is a Song*

I saved your last message in my email, Sharon,
the one about Laurie Anderson, whose art and
voice we both admire. What sweetness lingers

in your wake—for me, sudden, unexpected.
When I said I’d phone again next month I thought
we’d have more time. Christmas came, New Year’s—

and then my daughter’s call—she’s gone, three
nights ago. I’ve spoken with you ever since.
You tell me death arrived just right—grabbed

you after pain mounted its high horse, held you
to the saddle, galloped where I can’t follow.
You’re ok with death—you did the myriad things

you meant to do, inspired 4,000 students to reach
beyond easy—to volunteer at food banks, stage
mock debates at election time—gave them tastes

of Shakespeare plays in Oregon. You made your
money work for justice, marched in protests, lived
the better part of nine decades mostly happy,

steamed around Drake Passage, Cape Horn, awed
by night sky’s billion stars, impoverished Cuba’s
murals, dancing, music night and day. But I’m

here and you’re not—emptiness when we had
full. This summer I’ll be in Washington State.
You won’t. April’s forsythias didn’t burst as bright

this spring. Red tulips barely moved past orange.
On the bush below my window, frost-damaged leaves.
We outlive ourselves, dear Sharon. We go on.

* The italicized portion of the title of this poem comes from a line in Zeina Hashem Beck’s “Ode to My Husband, Who Brings the Music.”

*

Susan Shaw Sailer lives in Morgantown, West Virginia. Her recent poems have appeared in One Art, Persimmon Tree, and Minerva Rising. Sailer has published three books of poems (The Distance Beyond Sight, The God of Roundabouts, Ship of Light) and two chapbooks (COAL and Bulletins from a War Zone).

Texas Hold-Em by Susan Shaw Sailer

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Texas Hold-Em

Middle-aged, dealt hands of busted
marriages between them, who’d have
guessed by betting on their messy
lives, they’d thrive? She’d forgotten
how to trust, folded men quicker
than she’d hold ‘em. He’d lost
the chair, one chip left. Antes high,
hard to make the call. And yet…
three decades later they still spoon
to warm each other’s flesh, feast
on shared ideas, make meals together
in the kitchen. A once in a lifetime
hand, that royal flush.

*

Susan Shaw Sailer has published three collections of poems—The Distance Beyond Sight, The God of Roundabouts, Ship of Light, and two chapbooks—COAL and Bulletins from a War Zone. Sailer lives in Morgantown, WV, and is a member of the Madwomen in the Attic program at Carlow University, Pittsburgh.

My Life with Rivers by Susan Shaw Sailer

~ ONE ART ~ 1 Comment

My Life with Rivers

I come from rivers though I live on land.
Began where the Mississippi rises
from Minnesota ground, loped west
with the Missouri until it turned south
when I stayed north. Followed the Blackwater
far as I could, caught the Snake and went
on west till Columbia carried me to Puget Sound
where waves carved chunks from hills.
I fled inland, heard rivers calling me east
to Michigan, to Chicago on the lake.
Kept moving until Monongahela made me home.
Where now shall I roam?

*

Susan Shaw Sailer lives in Morgantown, West Virginia. She has published three books—Ship of Light, The God of Roundabouts, and The Distance Beyond Sight—as well as two chapbooks—COAL and Bulletins from a War Zone. Sailer is a member of Chatham University’s Madwomen in the Attic Program and participates in online classes through Zoom.