Poem by Charlotte Suttee

December 15, 2023

american nomad

  Bus windows make lakes of the road,
oils, asphalts, a yellow iris
  i can’t see past.

Signs swim, say things made fresh for me.
  Red citgo pyramids, the curbside piss bottle.

The direction of the air is lost,
      except through a cigarette,

The man i met at the greyhound ticket booth
  hands me a sugarwet donut,
untouched, by what i think he means, his hands.

About Charlotte Suttee

Charlotte Suttee’s poetry is published in a handful of Colorado magazines, and her experimental speculative fiction novel, Weather and Beasts and Growing Things, is available through Lethe Press. She howls, cooks, and explores with her husband in Minas Gerais, Brazil.

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