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  February 2006
volume 4 number 1
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  home   (archived)
 
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  Susan Culver
  Melissa Fischer
  Ursula T. Gibson
  Tess. Lotta
  Leslie Monsour
  Katie O'Loughlin
  Stephany Prodromides
 
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Susan Culver February 2006
   

 

bio


photo by jerry garcia

    Susan Culver lives in Colorado, where she is the editor of Lily. Her poetry and short fiction have been published in several journals, including The Pedestal Magazine, flashquake, InkPot, and Heavy Glow. Her first full length poetry collection, All the Ways We Could Have Met, is available via Lulu.com, as well as online bookstores such as Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Lily

   

 

In the Hands of St. Michael

There was a moment when the river slipped
beneath the old miner's bridge, when the sun
shut its all-knowing eyes and what it missed
was etched in the grip of that murky swish,

my hair loosened from its little clip, fanned out
like an earthen wave, like a wild and russet flame,
my legs replaced by the flesh of a silver fish
and that I grew in this, fed on an underwater breath,

fed on diminishing distances, how the bank flanked past
with a hum, how the belly of the bridge heaved me up,
back to the sky and the sun, to the one simple truth
the world has ever known: anything is possible.

copyright 2005 Susan Culver

   

 

Flying Past the City, Past the Harbor

Had there been no jets with their boom and fade, no Main Street parades
or
any other smile, would I ever then look past my own reflection, see the
way the world will dance.

And would I ever dare the dream: you, out there with your distant
light, my glimmer in the far-reach. Would I believe that hope is the tide that
carries you in, the breath beneath these wings, the horizon where we
meet:
water and sky, water and sky.

Darling, there is a sweet and nearing someday.

copyright 2006 Susan Culver

   

 

Pass It On

And do you believe
   there is a universal heartbeat,
    that even these dreams of you
    are more than mere dreams,
    are messages not meant to keep
    but to bottle in the whisper,
    to send in slivers, in stars
    to those who ever dared to hope,
    ever looked up in the night sky,
    said, "Here I am with my wanting"
    and do I

    have a right then,
    to hold this utter in, to curl
    around its warmth
    for my own little instant,
    to want only you
    and for you to know
    that even the whisper floors me,
    how it could go
    and never come back
    but that I will rise
    with tears undried, will code
    this secret to a thousand lives,
    hope to find you again in the echo.
   And do you believe,

    and do you believe,
    and do you believe...

copyright 2006 Susan Culver