Susan's "subject matter, context and medium...present a coherent artistic vision"
John Torreano, Clinical Professor of Studio Art, NYU

"Great stuff. Love your work."
Seymour Chwast

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Friday, December 16, 2011

Butterfly Eyes

Now and then they hear her sighs
when she creates with paints and dyes
untethering constrictive ties
confirming it–painting good byes.

They'll never know how hard she tries
negotiating the lows and highs
she always wears the bright disguise
deflecting the pretense and lies.

Outside she's looking for the prize
Internally she almost dies.
It's perfect! They can't see she cries
'Cause she's got butterfly eyes.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Last Walk

There is a gaping wound
where my heart once was.
I thought it would eventually close up
and something similar to a heart
might grow back.
What used to be my heart
is a huge aperture now
and is no longer heart shaped.
The resultant gap is filled
with chilly air,
which does not help me breathe,
but chills me to the core.

The emptiness has taken over now
eliminating my torso altogether.
My remains consist of
my head above the empty space
and my legs beneath it.

My head: in which I can recall
the enchanting days
with my golden girl.
My eyes: which sight a fluffy white phantom
swimming toward me in the lake and, of course,
my lips: which call out her name,

Bella ...
Bella ...
Belle of the Ball ...

in case she gets lost on her last walk.

But she won't,
for I still have my legs
beneath the spot that was my heart,

and I will walk with her
until the end of time.

Sunday, December 4, 2011


There was a hairy caterpillar
crawling on my face.
He tickled me while moving
at an extremely slow pace...
(without, I might add,
the least pretense of grace.)

So, I shot him with a can of mace.
Moonlighting as a mustache now,
he stays pretty much in place.
'Tis alarming though and
quite the disgrace...

now that
knickers trimmed with antique lace
can't get me to first base
with men
of the human race.
'cause I got a caterpillar on my face.