Garden by Susan Isla Tepper

My sadness belongs to no one

to choke on and die

All mine— and I follow rules

dig twice as deep as the root ball

swallow you in segments

while I sleep

hating and adoring.

Rain clouds crash the bleak night.

Passion is only a construct

and time becomes apparent 

upon awakening— while you labor

sucking out of a dead earth.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.

In Shadow by Susan Isla Tepper

Across a frozen pond your figure

in shadow, black

and featureless

A stand of fir as backdrop 

for protection 

though you were unaware

And, so still— as if  

you’d dropped down 

from masses of clouds 

to assess

or perhaps see me one last time.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.