5/31/2022 Poetry by Susan Vespoli
Jennie Robinson Faber CC
Adam Abecedarian Adam has become a c l o u d dances biblical excerpts feet and toes going high & low in his shoeless body-less jig as I sit in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. lamenting loss. My son no longer on the physical plane. Quiet here in this room where so many years ago, he carved a turkey. Today under vast watch of the sky, he is ash an X. Axed from life by a young bully cop – three bullets zipped from gun to neck to zero breath. Adam Duplex Adam carried his bible in a Ziplock tucked in his backpack, read it for hope, believed, hoped, packed raw oats, nuts, fruit, a water jug, believed he could kick methadone, heal those on the street; kick processed food, quit cigarettes, quit caffeine, no white flour, sugar, no more dark clothes, just white tee-shirts, button-ups, light jeans. Prayed, found a church, a mega church with a band and a pastor in jeans. When the band played, he sang, raised his hands in the air, and I sang next to him, felt the energy in him and in the air of the place, like we’d entered a river, non-church-going-mom-me and him, zealous Adam with his bible, carried into a flow. Susan Vespoli writes from Phoenix, Arizona. Her work has been published in Rattle, Anti-Heroin Chic, Nasty Women Poets: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse, Mom Egg Review, and others. Her full-length collection about addiction in her family, Blame It on the Serpent, is available from by Finishing Line Press. All proceeds will be donated to addiction support and recovery organizations. https://susanvespoli.com/
Janis Brams
6/6/2022 07:46:31 pm
As always Susan, the way you play with words and use them as tools to carve out what needs to be said is present in both of your Adam poems. But these grab at the reader's heart. They are a mother's memories of her child who she birthed, raised and still loves. We feel your loss through your amazing imagery coupled with the simplicity of who he was in the everyday...so rich and powerful dear Susan.
Steve
7/13/2022 03:26:07 am
I really liked your poem Orange in the current issue of Rattle. So sorry for your loss! Don’t know what else to say other than this: keep writing. Comments are closed.
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