SUZANNE NUSSEY

Saint Julian Press Poet

​

Poems from SLOW WALK HOME

First Sunday of Advent 

​I have stripped my garden
of dead stalks and leaves,
mounded earth over the root balls
of roses and wound them
in rough brown cloth
like a poor woman’s child
or a body for the tomb.
 
Leaf, bird, and light
have flown. The world’s
reduced to monochrome,
unornamented lines, 
the silent, empty air.
November’s difficult truth
is finally laid bare.
 
I have learned to fear
what looks like death,
to cover all the possibilities
of its approach. (Small catastrophes
have been my coach.) Bad news,  
disease and natural disasters
catechize my bleak imagination.   
 
So when the signs say
hunker down, 
expect the worst, 
I am well-prepared 
for mourning, 
not for birth.
 
Winter comes.

Press Release
 
First Poem
 
Second Poem
 
Third Poem
 
Fourth Poem
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