Susan Terris is the extremely widely published and anthologized poet who can be reached at sdt11@aol.com and who suggests RealPoetik "might be looking for a few more women poets."



A LESSON IN TENSE



I lay my skirt across a chair and it lies there. (Present.)
I laid my sandals on the floor and they lay there. (Past.)
I have laid myself upon a quilt and I have lain there. (Perfect.)

He lays his pants by my skirt and they lie there. (Present.)
He laid his boots beside my sandals and they lay there. (Past.)
He has laid his body next to mine and it has lain there. (Perfect.)

Lay, lies,
laid, lay
laid, lain.
All quite grammatically correct and, still, it is not
the lay or laid that bothers him but the lies.

He may love to lie with me, yet to lie about me is for him
a tense not coped with in any text of standard usage. (Imperfect.)







DU CHIEN

(an untranslatable French idiom)
has often been applied
to Tolstoy's wife Sonya.
Some moments it seems a compliment
hinting at bite and piquancy:
avoir d'elegance, de la seduction.
Then probing deeper I suspect
it's only another way of pointing out

the sleek creature a man might hope to tame
or teach to fetch
one who can learn on command
come, sit, stay, lie down, shake hands
someone to pet but one
content with bones tossed in her direction
one who will roll
to expose soft underside of belly
and she'll follow his lead
walk by his side, offer protection
bring the newspaper
accept scraps, beg for treats, for affection
lick him with her rough pink tongue
invite him to enter from behind
warm his hearth and bed
while waiting for him to reappear
obey, fetch, speak when prompted
know her place
be grateful
and beyond all, akin to the wolf, be
dangerous, capable if roused of sinking
fine white fangs into his civilized, taut
tie-circled jugular.

Du chien has possibilities,
but it does when used by a man
still mean doggy and, also, bitch...







CLUELESS

Unsure of what
to do:
no voice, no eyes
a hollow gnawing
taste and smell only an echo
left then with
pebbles underfoot
vibration of piano keys
and of a clock striking one
madness, mystery
and nothing to go on
except sensitive fingertips
ravelling clews of yarn
or riffling through
baskets of
seashells, shards, feathers
yes, Braille would help
if only she'd memorized more
than elevator numbers:
one, two, three
twelve, fourteen, fifteen
counting
she searches pockets
purses, clothes hampers
discarding books
and eyeglasses, casting aside
hats and earrings
aware car keys move, as do
scissors and Scotch tape
but some things should be
rooted or there's no
reason, so unreasoned
by darkness and silence
she slouches in a tub
lets steam rise genie-like
to sit upon her shoulders
soothe migraines
of a phantom scalp

How could she have been
so careless?
This is a woman who has truly
lost
her head.




BLUE AND RED

Odd voices rise above my head. Spying between airline seats, I see
a man write, "Dear Doctor -- today I got up, ate oatmeal, 2 bowls."
While he writes, the woman crayons.

Tell me what kind of person you think you want to be? he asks.

I want to go to the beach, wear bright
clothes, have boyfriends and dance.

My clothes are subdued. Are you planning to dump me?

I want a dog, a job. I want to have
babies, be a go-getter....

What about happy? The doctor says go-getters don't sleep
the time away. The Doctor says --

I hate doctors. They train us like
parakeets, and I'm not a bird.

Having a husband means nothing? Then why do you stay?

I'm afraid.

Bright colors are unsubtle. You'll tire of them.

I hate you.

Coloring is good for your concentration, and your picture
is turning out well. But try using some red.

Fuck concentration. Fuck red.

I said it would look good. Won't you listen to me?

No.

So what do you want to do? What? Tell me. Say it.

Kill you. Some morning I'll get up
before you do. I'll get up and kill you.

You know, I'm glad you're using blue. I like blue.

Yes, she answers. You're right.
Red and more red. Everywhere red....

So what kind of person do you think you want to be? he asks.





THIS IS NOT FUNNY (Microsoft Grammar Check)

It is with some measure of relief
that I know I will never taste Burgundy
in (Consider In instead of in.) my oatmeal
(This does not seem to be a complete sentence.)
at five in the morning
as (Consider As instead of as.) an egg-yolk sun oozes light
(This sentence does not seem to contain a main clause.)
from (Consider From instead of from.) behind a mountain peak.
(This does not seem to be a complete sentence.)
Yet I'll let the notion
of (Consider Of instead of of.) that faint-pink, tannic-tasting mush
(This does not seem to be a complete sentence.)
be (Consider Be instead of be.) both warning and reminder
of (Consider Of instead of of.) all the things we can't share.



Susan Terris



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