In the Egret’s Beak

In the egret’s beak the fish
wriggles its final moments.
When she tosses it back
and her throat pulses,
I am the fish being eaten.
On my way to oblivion, where
blackout curtains shield me
from sensory brilliance.

When I meditate,
and someone’s radio volume spikes—
Mexican music on the beach—
my hackles likewise rise until
I am peace being eaten;
on my way to extinction
of tranquility, where this time,
sensory brilliance wins.

In the egret’s beak I dangle,
praying to embrace my fate,
resistance no recourse.
Look! Sun glittering on the lake!
Feel! This moment of life!
Glory! In soon becoming egret,
gliding across the waters!
In each moment becoming another.

©Susa Silvermarie 2017


Her Face a Treasure

photography by Susa SilvermarieConchita’s face fills my doorway
like a dream I know.
A teacher mother come again.
The day before Navidad,
we share food
at one another’s homes.
We sit on cardboard, compañeras,
sharing guisado from her cookfire.
Then we walk to my casita,
for coffee and licuados.
A day of drawing closer, even though
we can barely comprehend
one another’s life. I don’t even know
which is her Mayan language.
Her Spanish is hard to understand.
But her presence, so strong,
feels familiar, calming. True.
Her unforgettable face in my doorway
bestows a treasure.

©Susa Silvermarie 2017

photography by Susa Silvermarie









Playground Portal

Blossoms of cosmos, pink and coral,
seem to lift the playground
from its deserted field.
Delicate petals wave
on a million invisible stems.
The swingset’s in flowers
up to the benches.

Ghost children climb the slide
above the hovering blooms,
and then slip down again
into a bed of flowers.
You cup your ear to distant singing,
and school bells seem to ring
from far-off childhood.

An overgrown portal,
this place of play,
for travel through to other spacetimes,
or simply glimpsing them.
The teeter-totter shifts its balance—
Was there a breeze?
A child, insubstantial as the blooms,
thrills to sudden rising!

The merry-go-round
slowly spins, and with it,
a million cosmos petals.
Where will it take you? or when?
Only wish,  see your destination.
Just maybe,
along with the spectral children,
it  will whirl you there.

©Susa Silvermarie 2017

Dreaming in Quintana Roo

Shall I wake to remember
I am, not a puny human but
perhaps a great Black Hole?
My Blues, larger for that.
Yet also, in the grander scheme,
just another transient song?

I stretch to it, yes,
let me be that big!
So sadness sails
into the bottomless cenote,
the velvet passage where,
on its way back home,
every human nuance blends}
into a single melody,

with a glorious bass line
of gravitational waves
that can, at last,
be heard by puny humans.

 ©Susa Silvermarie 2017






Quintana Roo is a state of SE Mexico, on the E Yucatán Peninsula, and Bacalar is a gem in this hidden corner of the world. The name Bacalar is derived from the Mayan: B’ak Halal, meaning surrounded by reeds. Bacalar lagoon is a mix of fresh and saltwater sitting atop a bed of white sand and limestone, creating a spectrum of pristine blues and turquoises and mint greens, and engendering the tourist description, “Lake of Seven Colors”.