©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

I am the one who knows
you are not present.
And yet, I come to stand
beside your grave.
Hungry for any service
I might render,
hoping to cross a bridge
I cannot pave.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

My heart is a google drive.
Streamed memories of you
float through the cloud
in my less-sunny mind.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

Our country is a sonnet
written in another time.
Set down in 14 lines,
no more, no less.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

Erback art image

She’d waited two years for grief to end.
It wasn’t easy, but she was game.
“Two years should do it,” remarked a friend,
but Anne was still going round the bend
with nothing improving and much the same.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

Sometimes, I think of your body,
sunk deep in the earth.
I look at your grave and imagine
the wood crate below.
I try not to wonder and yet
I cannot help but wonder
how much flesh is left, and
how long it will take that to go.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

Erback Art

The world has not gone dark,
and soft stars sparkle in the sky
on summer nights.
The dawn still lights.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

I wear your absence like a hat, too tightly,
its brim subduing light relentlessly.
Son-light, grown brighter from celestial moorings,
and yet at times so difficult to see.

©2020 Susan Noyes Anderson

This year, on Independence Day,
it’s hard to know just what to say,
for words are used as weapons now
by some who vow or disavow
whatever stance one might defend,
with all sides easy to offend.