Susan Mitchell Poems

caught on the wing the wing is a
disarray of sun spots
overtaking
...

Tonight the bear
comes to the orchard and, balancing
on her hind legs, dances under the apple trees,
...

At first all you see are the folds
of drapery, high grass close together, swaying
beads you parted as a child, field behind
the house, then river. Sky.
...

Off Havana, the ocean is green this morning
of my birth. The conchers clean their knives on leather
straps and watch the sky while three couples
who have been dancing on the deck of a ship
...

I ran into the afterlife.
No fluffy white clouds. Not even stars. Only sky
dark as the inside of a movie theater
at three in the afternoon and getting bigger all the time,
...

for Nathaniel, 1900—1968
All afternoon you worked at cutting them down.
Branch after branch tossed
into the heap. You had your ceremony. Old pants. The pipe.
...