Winds blow like thieves through Kansas and these walls.
We don’t yet know our pilot light’s been snatched.
Nights the trees held crystal hands: tingles
kissing steps from spine to breast. (I love you
love you you!). They leave us warm beneath sheets.
Morning’s bright nose soars nipped with ice, first of
the year. Off we run, dressing! Day’s breaking
in the skillet and it’s ours: threadbare rug,
fake wood counters, Koolaid in the fridge. We
just laugh, throw snow and skip to light the furnace.
Susan Richardson has published poems, stories, and articles in various venues, most recently in California Quarterly, Slant, Pinyon, and Third Wednesday with poems upcoming in Trajectory, Slant Cooweescoowee, and Memoirs of the Feminine Divine. She has a story upcoming in Third Wednesday. Within the last two years she has won honors from The MacGuffin, the Westmoreland Arts & Heritage Festival, California Quarterly, Fish, The Atlanta Review, Slant, the Idaho Writers Guild, and Third Wednesday. In 2012, her Winterhawk Press produced its fifteenth book, an anthology titled Ashes Caught on the Edge of Light: Ten Chapbooks. She works as a writer, editor, and crossword puzzle maker in Boise, Idaho, where she lives with her husband George, a chess player, teacher, and tournament director.