…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)