My Writings – Poems

In my own writing I primarily focus on two forms: the personal essay and poetry although I have recently begun working a bit in fiction. I’ve included a couple of poems here below and an essay on a separate page in order to give you a sense of my work.

Letter to Loren Eiseley

Dear Loren, I can see you pacing the long dark corridors of memory, waiting for the return of Halley’s comet. I know you wanted to see it again, that your father held you up on a starry Nebraska night when you were three years old, and whispered fiercely, remember. Remember for me. If you live to be an old man, you will see it again. And you did live to be old, but not old enough. When you died, I mourned most that you did not complete the journey. I want to tell you the comet wasn’t as good this time, that it did not swing its glittery tail as close to earth. I want to tell you I went in your place. Not to Hawaii or Australia where the comet flamed clearly across the black ocean of space, but traveled in my imagination; saw it burning a hole through eternity the way you taught me. The same way you taught me to find magic and mystery in everyday events; like the time you noticed with winter’s approach an orb-weaving spider, spinning its silk web beneath a streetlight, its own globe sun, and hauled the step ladder from the garage to investigate this obstinate creature bent on upsetting the course of Nature. Later you called it an act of heroism, – when even a spider refuses to lie down and die if a rope can still be spun to a star. You reveled in such small miracles, and through the stories you spun across the page you passed on a legacy, the way the wind scatters seeds. Your devoted student, Suzanne Murray.

originally published in: Isotope: A Journal of Literary Nature and Science Writing copyright belongs to Suzanne Murray

Living Earth

Bones and flesh sag into soft sand
an enveloping embrace,
the sun’s insistent warmth.

All thought lost
to the waves’ steady thunder,
gulls nagging, a godwits’ wild cry.

Sea lions boil the surface,
barking and snorting steamy breath
before diving deep for flounder.

A pair of pelicans, stiff-winged
sail the breakers’ lift
bellies scraping the salty spray.

All afternoon I wallow in earth’s aliveness,
until the sun slips out of sight
and I stand, brush off the fine sand,

walk up wooden steps to the house
and wonder, if she will miss me
when I go inside and lock the door.

Originally published in Avocet: A Journal of Nature Poems copyright belongs to Suzanne Murray