women. writers.

Poetry: "Beginning Again" by Susan J. Mitchell

Furniture, boxes, my very breath lay
in an SUV, its back door a mouth open
wide as if gasping for air.
There is a sofa on my shoulders
and spider webs on my tongue.  Those who

provided the muscle during this undertaking
smile, proud of accomplishing a tremendous
feat: moving everything left of my life
in three hours.

I step back into the apartment, see what
remains. This part of life is
moving much faster than I prefer. 
I wish the world could stop,
give me back my son and

let me meander through the city of
This Won’t Happen to Me
the rest of my days.
I don’t like being shoved into

It Just Happened Anyway
without a passport. I hear Customs is difficult
to go through when you have no ID.
Maybe, I could take a plane and
ask them to drop me off in

I Don’t Want to be Here Anymore. 
I hear the weather is hot, mosquitos
are relentless and I will not like it there.  
Someone calls to me from outside. 

It is time to go.
Time to take the last load
before the rain begins,
then off to get pizza in Let’s Pretend
to Celebrate a Job Well Done.
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