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Only a toddler, you carried the

long brussel sprouts stalk around

the farmer’s market hugging it

showing everyone its beauty


as gratitude ran through you

from across an ocean you

couldn’t see or know


from women who tended

to the purple of eggplants

the yellow of limoncello

they drank up flavors

from the pouring sun


following you as you doted

on your thriving bulbous reed


refusing to let me take it

from you, maybe worried by

the thought of taking it out

of your life


while you were still

feasting on the shoots and

streams of your




Tuned Out

The forest has gone

bird silent even though

we have poured water

into grandfather’s

cool stone bath


I have to ask


where are you


have we spent

too many

days forgetting

to listen

Susan Shea is a retired school psychologist who now lives in a forest in Pennsylvania. She has been published in several journals including The Bluebird Word, and The Agape Review.  Recently Susan has had poems accepted for Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Ekstasis, The Bookends Review, Poetry Breakfast, and in four anthologies.

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