Measuring

Just like my Mother,
I never measure the
salt when cooking,
instead we add it in
small pinches between
our fingers until
it seems about
right.

Really we don’t measure
much of anything
in the kitchen,

instead adding a
dash here and a dollop there.

But my father, he measures
two or three times before putting on his goggles
and turning on the saw.

As children we didn’t know
much of the real lives
of our parents.

Really, how could we have –

but if we are lucky we
learn it as we grow.

Change happens
like water dripping –
slowly,
one blow at a time.

Death in the country

Out here
in this country life
we are surrounded by death.

But it is not as sad
as you would think.

It is small
and natural
and common.

On good days
it is not cruel

but not every day
is a good day.

Sometimes it brings tears
and seems horribly
unfair.

But I think it is
a good place
to learn
of it.

Where it is
usual
and small
and often feels
more forgivable.

 

 

Recently published by The Galway Review : http://thegalwayreview.com/2015/06/12/susie-sweetland-garay-three-poems/

4th of July

Darkness is coming
so we gather wood
on the beach to
build our fire.
 
The flames are lovely and
though we are not alone here,
we might as well be.
 
The darkness protects us.
 
We light leftover fireworks
one by one throwing them
towards the water
in the dark
watching as they spin
and burn out.
 
Then our ordinary show
becomes remarkable
when a wave coming closer
with the incoming tide
takes one, still lit, and
carries it toward the sea.
 
It is still spinning as it floats away.
We watch the sparks become smaller
and it seems a long time
before she sinks.