Poems by Susan Dane

A woman who can tell
her true age
can do anything.
But there is more:
to find home in the silent house,
to not fear the mirror,
to make love in the empty bed,
to buy flowers at 3:00 a.m.
because they are
purple, pink and orange.
And there is more:
to leave one’s former lover
in the arms of another,
and still feel the ground
beneath one’s feet
as if it is a marriage,
all this is younger
than the bride,
stronger than muscle
and stone.
Veil torn and
sweet upon sweet celebration
is the voice that sings of oneself,
alone and not alone.
The earth circles ’round the sun.
But to draw the day from night
she turns around herself.
And there is more:
it doesn’t matter
whether it is day or night.