Poetry by Deborah Scott Studebaker

     Ben Grey CC




Your Question, Dianne

Your question lingers in the air 
like humidity pressing on my chest. 
Are you happy? 

Am I happy. Am I August rain? 
Calliope? Catastrophe? 
Yes. No. But I am light of step. Morning glory. 
Hair in pony. End of story.

My college roommate with the piercing eyes. 
I send these words by airmail to your pigeons 
and your cello, to your needlepoint, 
your dragonflies, your toads. They know. 
Happiness wanders. Happiness spins. 

I hazard a heartbeat here. 
Sticky hands and soapy water. 
Juices running down the chin. 
Polka dots, ink spots. 
Happiness is a rest stop.

Next question?





Happily, No 

The room bends to our experience. 
Pigment is elastic. Closer than the wind
and you have come to be with me today.

I order a small pack of moments 
here at the Sandpiper Lodge. 

We nick into the space between spaces.
Fine boats of morning charm the cavalcade rain. 
I thought I lost you. Happily, no. No.

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Deborah Scott Studebaker is a learning specialist and writing teacher based in Los Angeles. She loves the surreal insights of auto-correct and believes that movement liberates language. You can find her work at And Other Poems, New Note Poetry, and Roi Fainéant Press, among others. Say hello on Twitter/X @dsstudebaker.