Poetry by Suzy Harris
In my dream, I carry a rifle on my back,
hide in tall grass, ambush a group gathered on the beach,
and then run, run down the beach,
rifle on my back, race through town,
unable to find my way, when a stranger, a veteran,
notices the rifle on my back, adjusts it so I now carry it properly.
What does it mean to carry one’s violence on the outside,
where all can see, take note, avoid provocation?
What would it look like to open carry love?
To open carry tenderness?
My neighbor gifted me with felted slippers;
I open carry her kindness on my feet.
Suzy Harris was born and raised in Indianapolis as the fifth of seven siblings. She has lived her adult life in Portland, Oregon, and is a retired attorney. Her poems have appeared in CALYX, Clackamas Literary Review, Oyster River Pages, Rain, Third Wednesday, Willawaw Journal, Windfall, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband have two adult children who live in Portland, one dog, and a granddog.