Diagnosis
There is a mysterious weightlessness
waiting for the diagnosis.
Big empty moments treading water,
over my head in the present tense
knowing that off in some lab, my chatty cells
tell my life’s secrets to strangers.
I’m idly wondering if, someday,
this aimless hour will be remembered
as better than it seems right now,
because of what I don’t yet know.
I also have to wonder
if my future, already, is compacting,
becoming small enough to fit inside an envelope,
small enough to fit inside a fortune cookie,
shrinking down to one line,
to one word:
breathe.
…..
This poem is from the chapbook It’s Over by Susan Wolbarst (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/its-over-by-susan-wolbarst/
Susan Wolbarst has worked at many jobs – including a one-day stint on the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange – and been especially drawn to jobs putting words on a page, such as working at small-town newspapers. She currently lives in rural Gualala, California, where she works as a reporter for the local (print!) weekly newspaper. When she’s not writing news stories, she writes poetry as well as various flavors of prose. Her poetry has been published in Plainsongs, thewildword.com, pioneertownlit.com, Third Street Review and others. Five of her poems were published in a recent Canadian anthology, Alchemy and Miracles, nature woven into words, edited by Cassandra Arnold. Susan won second place in California State Poetry Society’s 2022 and 2023 annual contests. She has an MA in fine art from California State University, Sacramento and a BFA from the San Francisco Art Institute. She published a cookbook in 1992: Tasting Gold, A goldmine of recipes from Nevada County’s best restaurants. When she’s not reading, writing, or cooking, she enjoys travel, walking on the beach and messing around in kayaks.
The Paddock Review 