Susan J. Erickson

As watches spin backwards 
& time jets forward 
my eyebrows are lifted 
than my forehead. 

Fatigue is constrained 
by the elastic discipline 
of tight suspenders. 
I halt & walk 
w/reluctant scribbling steps. 

I'm back in the land 
of the free & the excess 
where white sands sparkle 
like friends w/capped teeth. 
The coffee smells


like gordon mc crae 
at the wrong 

Tables, beds & toilets 
no longer crouch 
on the floor. 
They are risen! 

Of bean paste confections 
& their alien sweetness 
I've had enough.  Sweet one, 
give me a Hershey kiss 
made in the US of A. 

Send me postcards 
written at dawn 
from your side of the bed. 

Copyright 1999, Susan J. Erickson
Susan J. Erickson writes from Bellingham, WA.  This poem was inspired by a trip to Japan where she lit a candle on Basho's grave and discovered travel  rouses the not-in-your-right mind muse.

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