Susan Terris

The Last Time This Water Saw Land, It Was in Africa

The last time this parrot saw fish,
it was flying over an island purpled by sunset.
The last time this pebble skipped across
a white sand beach, it was tossed
by a man with a parrot on his shoulder
and a fish in his creel.
The last time this key saw a lock,
I was on an island with the man, the parrot, the creel,
the fish, and a hot golden ball at the horizon.
But winds were fierce, the man and the light
unforgiving. So I shook
sand from my shoes, locked my suitcase,
and caught a plane.
In my hand, one smooth pebble
and a notebook lined with Caribbean clichés.

*Lynx Eye
*5 A.M.

EAST MORICHES, N.Y.

Bobbing on the surface: a stuffed bear, a knapsack
filled with frozen steak, a photo of a black dog.
They tell the divers not to look at
faces, because faces personalize death.

On the list, I see my sister's name. But it wasn't
my sister. Someone else with her name
caught that flight. Still, in a moment of parallel time,
between takes in a movie, my sister stands
with me watching a tame bear. The bear has mitts
on his paws so he won't scratch the floor.
He slips and falls, and the filmmakers laugh,
complain he's so tame he has no charisma.

That bear, they insist, wouldn't hurt anyone.
But while I'm watching them, the bear eats my sister.
Then they feed him morsels of meat
from a dank knapsack and say, "Good boy."

*This poem has been published in:
Grrrr, A Collection Of Poems about Bears, Arctos Press, edited by CB Follett

Machine Dream *

There's an alligator in a jar
who purples against a purple river
and greens against green rills.
He is growing so fast
sharp teeth score the glass.
It breaks and I, visoring my helmet,
confront him.

Our contest is slow yet earnest;
and we are walled by the cinnabar
of a machine, innards
throbbing like a foundry.
I advance, gripping not sword
but red mouse
with a long tube-like tail.

Angling vertically, I elude the gator,
unsure if gravity will hold me.
The mouse bites his own tail,
and I use him to change direction
as I maze
through narrowing tunnels.
But I'm sluggish, and

the gator is behind me again.
Slick as death yet purposeful,
he creaks his jaw. Now I reach
a dead end. Curbed by walls,
I lift my visor and drop
the mouse. Then wrapping
myself in white,
I pay out all lines of control.

* Rhino

ZERO AT THE BONE

Dreams of kittens, then smaller half-formed kittens.
Snake oozing from the basement drain.
Dead birds.
Child the size of a kitten, knotted in darkness.
A doll raises her arms in benediction.
Rats in cages.
Snake edges forward, scenting the world with his tongue.
Squeal of a car careening without brakes.
Breath fogs a mirror.
Snake bellies toward a kitten.
Child falls through the ice.
Something dark skulks in the bushes.
The doll's china head: a jigsaw.
Child spread-eagled under the water.
Snake has two heads, and one devours the other.
The face slides from the mirror.
A black shape scallops through a braided stream.
Child disappears without a trace.
The kittens have lost their pelts.
Snake seeks the warmth of the empty womb.
Coils — oh, the muscled coils.
The cold skin. The soft bones beneath the skin.

home welcome feature essays poetry fiction eco-watch tea-party the path road trips reviews politics renaissances credits/bios submissions links archives e-mail