©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

image from churchofjesuschrist.org

Brokenness heals –
cracks wide our throbbing doors –
lets go, lets God,
lets out the flood that pours
from swollen skies.

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by getty-images-0lRNBczbOxA-unsplash
used by permission of Unsplash+

My self-portrait, if made today,
would be on paper, not in clay.
An abstract, puzzling my eyes
in shapes I strain to recognize.

©2018 Susan Noyes Anderson

Image by Chris Beloch from Unsplash

The week before Christmas, I wait at the post office,
mailing one last, precious thing.
The line isn’t quite out the door, but it’s close,
and our holiday mood’s taken wing.

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Unsplash+ in collaboration with Getty Images

It’s up to me to live my days
in sunlit hues or shady haze.
Though circumstance vies for control,
I chart the weather in my soul.

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Faruk Tokluoglu on Unsplash

It pains my heart to put the stuff
of childhood away.
Is there a thing more sad, more bittersweet
than moving day?

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

Six years without you, my mind’s eye
settles upon your vacant place.
It’s harder now to summon sights of you
to fill the empty space.

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

Image by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

Age is the proof of the pudding in love.
I know for a fact this is true.
The years are the heat and the steam and the pressure
that set well or turn into glue.

©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson

It’s not that you’re more present here,
for you are present everywhere.
I feel you in the warming sun;
the rising trees; the crisp, clean air.
Yet this safe ground, your place of rest,
surrounds my soul in comfort deep.
This refuge, framed in oak and redwood,
holds you in a sacred keep.