—a golden shovel after Diane Seuss’ frank: sonnets pg 37
Let me first say I never knew if
you left me or I left you.
My therapist wants me to consider what it is that I want
and I tell her I think it’s a toasted pumpernickel bagel with butter but I can’t because of the
celiac and all. In my mind, I’m already unfolding the wax paper and inhaling the grand
aroma so I miss what she says next. If there is a prize
for charming patients I want to win it. In the end, I decide that it was you
who left me (after I left you). That must
have been the way things went. I have a desire to be more captivating but I keep
returning to the same old scenes. Like the way a
snowflake caught in the ends of my daughter’s red hair made the whole world go quiet.
A flock of temporary diamonds strewn across her troubled shoulders. Never mind.
About the Author
Susan Barry-Schulz grew up just outside of Buffalo, New York. She is a licensed physical therapist living with chronic illness and an advocate for mental health and reducing stigma in IBD. Her poetry has appeared in New Verse News, SWWIM, Barrelhouse online, Nightingale & Sparrow, Shooter Literary Magazine, The Wild Word, Kissing Dynamite, Bending Genres, Feral, and elsewhere.