Poems by Susan Dane

It is embarrassing
for a girl from Connecticut,
raised properly
in a proper Christian home,
with a good suburban education,
to find sex and speak it
as her mother tongue.
Like coming home to the first world
where she belongs—
the storm, the sea,
the raw wind rocky cliffs
and wind-wet cheeks.
Like learning French or poetry
and feeling that the world makes sense,
you can speak
your mind in fluent ease.
The pieces finally fit,
but it must be kept a secret,
blushed by the way it flows
like music, effortlessly.