—a golden shovel, after Diane Seuss’ “frank: sonnets” page 3

by Susan Barry-Schulz


it’s morning not night but it’s December so it’s hard to tell I ache but
that’s nothing new really the throbbing molar the gnawing belly how
the sounds of the garbage truck lurch through me & the neighborhood & there is nothing I can do
to get back to the way I
was no way to explain
the way this
earth churns restless
beneath me & how this search
doesn’t end for
while it’s true I’ve become a wreck of a human being there’s beauty
still at the shoreline even washed up & limp & covered with biting black flies or
is that just the memory of relief.

Susan Barry-Schulz grew up just outside of Buffalo, New York. She is a licensed physical therapist living with chronic illness and an advocate for reducing stigma in IBD. Her poetry has appeared in The Wild World, New Verse News, SWWIM, Barrelhouse online, Nightingale & Sparrow, Garfield Lake Review, Shooter Literary Magazine, Bending Genres, Quartet. and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter at @suebarryschulz.