—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.