3.3. Susan Sonnen: 4 poems

All Things Good and Lovely

All Things Good and Lovely,

born at Creation,

died this evening at 7:32

for the Bradshaw family

as Little Roddy shot his brother,

Mikey “TuffStuff” Bradshaw,

for refusing to let him have a turn

at the Playstation.

Mrs. Bradshaw blames Mr. Bradshaw

for setting his gun on the kitchen table

and then turning to the fridge for a glass

of cold milk.

Mr. Bradshaw blames Mrs. Bradshaw

for not getting the milk for him,

as he had asked her to,

thus forcing him to set down his gun.

He was VERY thirsty, you understand.

Little Roddy, Mr. Bradshaw’s namesake,

remains in a state of ire.

Mikey, of course, being dead,

points the finger at no one,

but they all feel his condemnation.

It is expressed through his big blue eyes,

staring without tears,

without fear,

without forgiveness.

Memorial services for

All Things Good and Lovely

began at 7:32 pm this evening

and will continue throughout eternity.

In lieu of flowers,

the family requests a second chance

at 7:32.

I Am So Deeply Into You

I will not live without you.

I will not stay in my quiet room,

Coming out only for a bite of food

And a glass of wine.

I am so deeply into you

That I have died as well.

Yet here we are.

But there we are.

The two of us in my flesh.

The two of us in your bones.

When in need of solitude,

We recline in your grave,

Your bones wrapped tightly around me.

My head on your strong shoulder.

And then we yawn. You

Complain of only having

A third of the bed to yourself,

But I, already asleep, remain

Sprawled. You smile and kiss

My forehead.

Come morning,

We awaken in our four-poster.

Together we go to the

Kitchen. You fry the eggs

While I set the table.

Best Poems

You were right. You remember. We were sitting in Union Station back home, waiting for my train to Milwaukee. You said (out of the blue) that I would write my best poems when you were dead.

Sunflowers

Does the sunflower

Tire of holding up

That big head?

I wanted to stay in bed forever,

But there were children to raise.

Susan Sonnen lives a quiet life in unquiet Chicago. Her poetry has previously been published by tinywords and Old Mountain Press.

"Conversation piece" by Mary Oswald