…and the trees said

enough of this shit, we’re outta here

pulled up roots started


slack-jawed Humans stammered

whaddya mean? you can’t do that to


We’re in charge here.

The trees tossed confetti leaves over their shoulders

grinned and said

“Make your own damned oxygen.”

©Kim Suhr, 2016 (first appeared in Creative Wisconsin, 2016)



…Just When…

I think I can’t stand any more

and the colors have all bled out

of the world, like construction paper

left too long on a second-grade bulletin board,

when it seems there is nothing

but variations on



On that day, I march to the mailbox in my slippers,

not bothering to put out my arms to steady myself

across icy spots


Today, I dare the universe

to knock me over


I’ve had it


There, in the mailbox,

it waits: The seed catalog

I bolt back to the warm house

Not bothering to close the mailbox

Like a teenager with a forbidden magazine

I devour descriptions,

fantasize about fondling leaves on a balmy day,

marvel at the mystery of their names


Yolo Wonder

Purple Peacock

Bull’s Blood

Autumn King

Tender and True

The tomatoes alone make my heart race

I feel their sweet juice drip from my chin,

taste their names on my tongue

Sun Sugar

Purple Calabash

Isis Candy

Orange Jubilee

Banana Legs

White Wonder

Big Rainbow

Ponderosa Pink


Chocolate Cherry


I remember the quiet buds of the apple tree,

set long before we started our layering for the cold,

little bundles of promise on each branch.

I take a deep breath,

and hold on.


© Kim Suhr, 2010 (first appeared in the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets Calendar, 2011)