Sudasi Clement

Central Avenue Love Poem

your wrists
your lisp
your blistered
your heart the stone
drawn taut
in a slingshot
your PHD in color & light
your handful of berries
the drowned child
in your moon-mind
your live-wire hands
your spoonful of medicine
your emergency calls
your ghosts your holes
your pinky toes
the twin suns
of your


Mountain Meditation

I’m supposed to be mountain. I sit. Breathe in—
exhale. My base isn’t mighty. My peaks are small. 

Mind like a tiger, breath striped black and gold.
Thoughts stray off-trail, their wet noses 

nudging aspen leaves, snow, wild strawberries.
Seasons in flux— I’m running to keep up.

Hummingbird balanced on each fingertip,
I practice Perpetual-Motion Mudra.

© Sudasi Clement

Sudasi Clement was the poetry editor for the Santa Fe Literary Review from 2006-2016. Her work has appeared in Apalachee Review, Sierra Nevada Review, Slipstream, and Room Magazine, among others. She won the 25th annual Slipstream Press chapbook contest in 2012 with her manuscript, The Bones We Have in Common.

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