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Two Poems, by Susan Mason Scott

Father In Winter We Bare

and swagger through tolerant rye and blue grasses grasses blue and rye, tolerate you and me long after long weathering others bare in the Winter Garden. Garden winters shoes sullen shoes weathered in snow-soft earth trodden soft, snow tracks a winter bare. I track you winter-naked elm-naked in a cleansed sweet season, scent sweeter. In naked winter you beacon, you groom well you well-groomed despite neglect, mine mirrors. You signal with high polish polish high you signal and flash, how you toggle light for my attention.

Attention: Why do you throw dirt, then close your eyes to me? Eyes closed I bury you in my face. Seek. One thin tin tin one cup cup your grandson grandson reduced to ash, ash reduced skips one generation. In Winter’s Garden I offer a coat, coat black tender black ash with plume-soft buttons stained rust red, red tear-stained bones. Dirt. If it were dirt, make it mud.


I house a bruised room
a stale bloom
no eggs nor slough. Granite
mausoleum my womb.

Susan Mason Scott writes poetry, teaches mathematics to GED students and bicycles wherever she can find a trail. Her work appears in Halfway Down the Stairs, HeartWood Literary Magazine, UCity Review, and Thimble Literary Magazine. After living and teaching in several cities and villages around the world, she has settled along a bend of river in Madison, Indiana.