Assorted Poems by Suz Denym

1.

What’s ripe wants death,

torn from the stem

peeled skin shows the white

strings hanging.

Segmented flesh.

I am still with longing—

2.

Round hot flesh grey

as curdled milk with

streaks lighter still

pink purple blue skin

hair on end

hair in rows

like crops grown

black lines tuft

from each incipient limb

at the top of the legs

a shock

and under collarbones

swing   ing       and mock        ing

round on round          

white on white

and an eye inside

to digest          expel

exhale from the mouth.

3.

Our skin never touches,

just the cotton membranes

between

that deliver

warmth through

to hands, fingers,

an arm draped

across your chest.

You sleep on your back,

I curl beside

holding

an arm, a shoulder

through your shirt.

Say succumb,              spell it

S U C C U M B

Breathe

in rhythm

with me.

Speak in the voice

 of the cat next door

who meows so solemnly

in the dark.

4.

You stand

in the hallway,

light illuminates

square windows,

textured 1970s glass,

blue.

You take off

the jacket and hang

the bag on the chair,

lever shoes off

your heels with

the other toe.

Suspended

in the silent air.

5.

In my parents’ house,

feet cold on the floor,

in the hallway

where I heard

the creaking of footsteps

when no one was home—

in the corner

beside the front door,

a tiny green stem

pokes through to the inside

like a broken bone

pushing from a wound.

Where tendrils creep

across the ground, twisting

they undulate,

moving too slowly

for the eye

to see:

I am cut

down

to the roots.

Executive Producers

Sue White

Daniel Henson

Karolina Ristevski

Elliot Cameron