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Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2017
and between you and me is the world

and between you and me is a language

and between you and me is culture

and between you and me is a war

and between you and me is religion

and between you and me is a wall

and between you and me is perception

and between you and me is ourselves
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2017
her shadows
have more weight
than my ghost

in my hands
a basket
full of ripe
plums

they prefer
those bite-sized
cookies with the
******* fortunes

plain language
in which
nothing hums
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2017
Learn their language. You will
need the words
to sing
your own songs.

Let them name you:
shameful
crazy
nothing.

We forget that
***
is still
a weapon.

Laugh at their visions,
their one-faceted
solve all
solutions.

Remember that
every day
you rise anew
like the sun.
Erin Suurkoivu Apr 2017
Once
in the old neighbourhood

I had never felt more beautiful
and unafraid.

But I am afraid now
as you stalk near.

My words are naked babies
and I must run.

Swifter beasts than me
have not survived

the chase
across the savannah.

You too struck
quick as lightning.

Do they willingly give up
their bodies and blood?

Are they all too happy
to submit to death?

But I,
I just wanted to get out alive.
Erin Suurkoivu Mar 2017
I search for the true reflection.
Is it in the mirror or the camera?
Is it in a lover’s eyes or an enemy’s?

I don’t profess to stand on a pedestal,
but I stand on something,
and it seems it’s always something

that knocks me off.
And we may say, I know, I know,
for I have also been there.

I know who she is. I know, I know.
I know the problems she’s facing,
as if we are all wise men.

But it’s becoming clear
that you can only ever walk
in your own shoes.
Erin Suurkoivu Mar 2017
what is sand
but the finest of glass?

and what are bones
but the finest of ash?

and you may try to crush
me down into the finest of elements,

reduce me to nothingness,
******* to the wind.

but I have a talent
for rising again,

oh yes.
you cannot keep me down for long.
Erin Suurkoivu Mar 2017
the latitudes of freedom are not hard to measure --
though they can be difficult to achieve.
there are limited means, and a day --
dashed by uncooperative weather, the wind
outside raging like some mythical beast --
blowing the snow sideways, piling the drifts.
and so the day unfolds in the usual way,
and the night -- the foreseen sleep interrupted,
as it has been for years, and the road ahead --
while invisible still -- promises more of the same.
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