Poems – Su Zi / Art – Robert Frede Kenter

Mockingbird

what of this land
these softly swelling hills
             these hammocks
the water lives here still
             silent
below the layers
             are caves and hidden rivers
             that hear the surf songs
                           the sea shanties
from whence
her immortal workshop
             shaped the waves
             shifted the bones

alluvial soil

they say Flagler built Florida
             with his Pullman cars
             with Edison’s winter workshop
             with Stetson’s parquet floor
they say men came with fast horses
             when the roads were
             crushed limestone
they say there was
             no frost here then

the hammocks that had been
             ancient nurseries to
                           the sea creatures
             rose into the wind
and here then
                ancient nurseries
                deforested and fenced
and here then
             the drumhead
and here then
             the horses:
                           listening with their hooves
                           to the echoes of
             history below the sand
             and rising into the wind.

Desert Royale

the uniform is always ragtag
             it’s dangerous to wear sport shoes, but
             days are in motion
             countless steps upon
                           concrete
                           pasturage
                           dancing across tractors
crew
                the ones who talk to each other
                           in a separate language
                women with memories

I tend to take lunch alone
             find a tree

there was a lone tree between
             tractor tracks and black fence
utter noon

I got into the habit of a nap
             awakened to afternoon
             by the loud start of
             the postwar Ford

the new spring cilantro
             enticed us maybe
I would sit with my cigarette
             spine to tree
             and you stood
                           on the other side of the fence
                           not looking at me
often enough
             it was you
             standing sentinel
and all the children
             napped in the grass

             yours was almost invisible
             a shadow at your legs
all the children and i
             you stood sentinel
                           the other mothers
                           off for an hour alone

one afternoon,
             eyes open, but just,
             staring past
                           the black posts and boards
                           your steady legs
                           a constellation of
                           babies asleep in the cilantro
I unwound myself
             I, myself, stood up
you started
             (perhaps I was no more
             a bundle asleep
             but morphed monstrous)
I looked at your tag
                           your number
it was maybe
the first time
we looked at each other

in the shift of tasks,
             the crew will escort
             a dozen across the fences
             to a different structure
                           different sleeping
each to each
             we walked the mothers
                           the children
                           skittering along
you were the lead
             because you were always the lead
             the Valid sister
             Reality’s daughter
the biggest man was your escort
             he kept his elbow on your neck
             punched you
the crew was a que
             and we followed
             you leading
                           while being punched
crew chief Christine said
             you had a reputation
             had shattered someone’s arm
             you were savage

you who had stood sentinel
             to my noon naps

             first before you saw me
             first before you could hate me
you stood sentinel to my sleep
             adding me to the babies
you
             who were savage
                           stood sentinel to my sleep.

Jealous Appeal

i met you in maternity
             your new son
             a susurrating swaddle
             asleep at your ankles
because you stood
             all the time we were about
you stood

yours were the long bones of your mother
             and in those lines
             were clear ancestry
you stood
             as we opened the metal door
             to put our hands on your son,
             but perhaps
             the food was too rich
             yours was a lean athleticism
but on the third day
             you were surrounded by doctors

across the concrete aisle
             your son stood
             a dark tremble
             alone
and i went to the nurse
herself a new mother
with a sturdy boy of her own
i went to the nurse,
             June,
             blonde, big boned, probably once Amish
i went to the nurse
             She on one side of the mesh metal door
             and i
             eye to eye
             we stood
             and in a quiet midnight accepted the new child

we had come to have the habit
of sleeping on the memorial graves of the ancestors
during lunch
the quiet hour

i had been told you were down the hill
             and i went to see you
             during the quiet hour

             you stood
             alone in your concrete room
             looking through the barred window

             there was a brush next to the door
             and I slid the metal panel upon its track

             upon your regal shoulder
             i laid my hand

             upon your regal body
             i laid my hand

             you stood for me
             looking out of the barred window
             into a distance beyond time

upon the grave of your grandfather, i slept
             and passed the ginger shine of your father
             in the glow of any day’s end

later years
             would see the fame
             of your last son
             valid in blood
             his own lines saluted

you would stand
             until the doctor came
             until the needle came

             to lay you down.

Ching

the day shift starts at 6
            dark as midnight half the year
            and the fingers of cold
            still seek the memory of water
lights on at
             the house of mothers
the clang of breakfast
             the babies nurse
             while mom has her cold granola
                           every meal
             is cold granola

             the house of mothers
is concrete and steel
             houses forty mothers
             but just for the first days

mother and child
             go out to a play pen
             in the morning
mother and child
             are led out
             and the dawn finds them
                           as the baby plays
                           dances
             the noon finds
                           an indissolvable shadow: napping baby

and so, there you were
             bronzed and scowling
at the two of us with our chains
             you and your baby were numbers
the big biker put his palm
             on the baby’s ribs
when you lashed out
             I snapped on the chain

                           fooled ya
             and saw interest in your eyes
it was the same every time
             you hated us
             for being us

you were the same:
             a single, violent motion

there were so many mothers
but I kept my hands kind

sometimes the warders of the babies
             grew impatient
             with ticklish, squiggling children
             using their fists
the mothers waiting
             watching
             at the end of my chain
except you
             ever violent
             circling around me
             trying to touch your child
you learnt me as me
             from my silent tears

but still you hated us
             with a compliance predicated
             upon threat

one afternoon,
             I was left alone
             in the house of mothers
             while they ate their
             ever-early supper
and you caught my glance
             across the concrete
             through the bars
             typically twisting your face to hate
but I whistled some simple song
             and I saw interest in your eyes

                           fooled ya

you were cycled to the field
             the other mothers
             the other children
housed only briefly
             for meals
             or medical

but I was called to you
             and you hugged your baby
                           your daughter

             fearing the day she’d be taken away
your name was a card on a wall
             a line on a list

             and later, so many held
                           such similar variants
Ching
             you were so young
Cha-Ching
             might have been born Irish
             might have been born Canadian
those unmet others
             maybe later children
             from that daughter
                           who was your everything.

---

Su Zi is a poet-writer, Artist, equestrian. EIC Red Mare chapbook series. Zoeglossia Fellow 2023. Recent publications include the 2024 New Beats Anthology, Florida Bards Beat Anthology, Border Beats Anthology. Recent titles, spring 2024 : Danke (EthelZine Press), Flux (Between the Highways Press). Su Zi lives in Florida. Twitter: @xsuzi00

Paintings and Drawings- Robert Frede Kenter.

1. Horse Abstract #1
2. 2. A Field of Option
3. Triptych Field Horse
4. And I came Upon A Miracle