Susan Smith Nash


Youre here and Ill ask you

trees shivering, bark peeling itself in sheets

the wind tearing at my roots

while my hair

sows madness in my eyes

I need you like I need the rain

and the plow to cut my skin

so I bleed in furrows, weeping

mud and sap surging up

in spite of me, of you, of life

and other indefinable hungers

will you let me?

will you?

tear my skin, my face, my heart

whatever Im calling scars

these days

masks, presumptuous identities

foisted upon me, upon you

will you let me?

will you?


-- October 27, 2001