Susan’s Writing


Susan is the author of

“One Clear Voice: A Journey In Poetry”

Scroll down for an excerpt.

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The Prayer At The Coffee Shop

 Dear God

I welcome the opportunity

to understand more fully

who I am, and

I promise to work

to embrace the possibility

of who I might yet


I accept your challenges

your guidance and

your lessons. I ask

only for the courage

to trust in You

and the strength

to receive your gifts

with dignity

and love.




I knew I had made a pact with you

that day at the coffee shop

when I sat there eating my toasted bagel

no butter just jelly

strawberry if you have it, please,

and I vowed to thank you

no matter what. With dignity

and love, I promised, eyes open wide

in graceful surrender to our plan.

I say our plan, because even with you

I would be sure not to, once again,

lose myself completely in

the arms of a man.

I have decided that you are male

because for some reason

it’s what I need right now.

And while I prefer to let

the earth mother me from below

there is something delightfully

sensual, satisfying—some ‘s’ word

about you coming from above

looking down in knowing affection;

a look that’s sure enough

to quiet my thoughts, yet

secret enough to shake me up.

Over coffee I promised to trust you

and you promised the truth.

I said I would be brave and

you swore that I would know.

We kissed softly on a deliberate Amen

and then I paid the check,

the first of my dues, I suppose,

with a generous tip too,

a full belly, a steadied pen,

a brand new pair of walking shoes,

and the green light for



That Moment On The Train

I thought for sure

that everyone knew

what was happening

as I shivered a little

and my eyes closed tight

my face got flushed

my toes clenched

and my breath ran deep

and all I had done

was think of you.


 September 21, 1998

When I turned my face toward hers

I heaved in silent horror, her

stillness grabbing me like a vicious claw

as a heart wrenching glass breaking

NO boomed in my head—a

don’t you dare take her now

before I have the chance

to figure out what de hell to say.

I placed my right hand on her left knee

and she stirred. And with an exhale

powerful enough to knock her over

I reached down and gave my grandmother a hug.



 There are spurts of inspiration,

moments when I think I know.

But when the dark cloud comes

I rain down on myself in

such impatient sorrow

it is distressing for sure.

And yet in all this angst

there is that one pure thought:

my own fire

a topaz gold tiger’s eye

which comes into slightly clearer view.

Are you getting closer, you

light at the end of the tunnel?

Will you be waiting on your

shiny white horse with a dozen roses?

Or, will you simply hold up a mirror and say:

It was here all along.

I’ve been here all along.