Three Poems — press II press

susan shea

Gray Matter

Even when I appear to be staring
into friendly space, my brain keeps
shuffling memories, stopping on
random bites of days, faces,
gives and takes

these screen shots fire into me from
a giant pot of loose ends that has
become a thick, slow moving
goo that loves to take the past and
glue itself to my remorse

I have to force myself to stop the
hits upon my mind, my breath,
to look outside my window,
beyond the what has been

I see an old woman jogging down the
road, wearing neon green
she’s trim, she’s bouncing, and
her arms are pumping hard

I’m sure she carries echoes from her past
but clearly she has found a way
away to pound her penance, and to
leave her memories here on this
soon to be past spot
on this shaded road

her tiny smile takes me with her
as she runs a head
forward into her light weight
now

Communion

In large letters my shirt says, I'm sorry,
ready to wear, in the event I enter heaven

so that I will immediately apologize to the
righteous for my wrongteousness on earth

whole-heartedly I will look around, hoping
to find brimming conversations to tickle
buoyant places in me that have been waiting
in my empty chambers

to defy gravity, to move clouds with my
fingertips, to eat only light and like it

I can embrace the place, cuddle with
lions and lambs, imagine the feast, but

I dare say, what will we discuss
when we have all forgiven each other
and ourselves

Orbiting

Few can see the ring system
rotating around the planet me
there is debris
from the past and from my own making

it is how I organize my gains and losses
how I categorize my pains into circuits
live hot wires I can use
to guard me through
cold arenas
galaxies that wait for me

I can travel with my circling
dust and ice and moonlets
formed by so many impacts

protected by halos of
shepherd moons
deflecting doubts
ejecting lack of love
collecting patterns to remind
me all is well
and seen

I am matter

if you can see
my rings
you matter too