Susan Hahn

I It begins on a tip of the ear in reality or metaphor— it doesn’t matter. The matter out of which we’re made more determined than any life guide shoved at us by mother or by father. What is this condition? What causes it? What are its sym [...]

Your scar is like a trumpet vine and by day I am the full sun pouring over it. At night I am the eager moon drawing you up and toward me. The fragrance you carried with you in a sachet in your pocket from Hawaii stays next to me in my writing room, [...]

I wait for one more call, your voice soft as the marrow I'd push my tongue into then suck and swallow as a child. Tomorrow I'll hope for an envelope fat with love or on this autumn evening when the paper birch outside my window shines yellow and the [...]