Like Craters
by Stephanie Suhr
Her face:
scattered moons
in different phases,
the half-circle of her chin,
the crescents of her brows.
The walls
are not sudden or sharp
like craters.
Photos in frames
are familiar, regular.
The fan's hum
is not a whir through the cosmos.
But the sun is a star
and it doesn't smile
like in her daughter's drawings,
yellow and orange Crayola
beating out rays
from the grinning disc.
Instead, the sun is
one stump on her husband's
stubble, a single grain
among many.
The atmosphere wraps
thick around her
like the layers of cloud
that cover the world.
Copyright © 2010, Stephanie Suhr
Image Credit: SivamDesign, some rights reserved
Stephanie Suhr is a resident of Northern Kentucky. She holds a master's degree in English and Comparative Literature from the University of Cincinnati. Her poems have appeared in Edison Literary Review and Licking River Review.