Four Poems
Sara Sutter


My mother made
this decoupage box.

Heather patches.
A cellar red

emulating drapery.
Docile, holy

family scene in three
roundels sable.

Rank insignia
signifies nonzero.

shines on a rock face.

The Shrew

Astute, she always knows
answers regarding displacement
of supposed masters,
the dumping of nightsoil,
specters, floods or the presence
of a cat or a dog. "Fiercely

territorial." "So
clever he wants to escape." Digs
burrows, echolocates
via multiharmonic
ultrasonic squeaks. "Someone
yelling to the heavens."

They feel each other from
overall-reverb-calls, but just
because he hears, doesn't
mean he listens. "Better lone-
ly than unhappy, echo-
loco." "This time," she says to her-

self, "I will make an end
of her once and for all." Concocts
a poison comb, scours
herself beautiful and roams
the hills calling out "I shall
like to be personal."


Fixed axes
of drawbridges, hinges, joints.

Connections with limited rotations
wherein story settles over a life.

Father, a farthing

Funnel cloud, not quite tornado.
Marble following

earth's pitch.
Wicker chairs, silence.

A twisted rope cable
twists around an anchor.

The Eve's Apple

Early folklore maintained the lump
in the female throat reminded Eve
of original sin.
A piece immovably
lodged from her first forbidden-bite.
"He handed it to her." "She ripped

the fruit." A laryngeal prom-
inence of elongated cart-
ilage, spongy-almost
changing pitch and timber
via slight manipulation --
"Steve knew what he was doing."

"For men who impersonate women,
the Apple is a hard feature
to fake." Another is
the strangling-gesture in
which his hands clasp her neck, pretend
to throttle it. Gesture of two

meanings: "I could strangle myself,"
and "I could strangle you."