FALL 2011




Solidus Online

Jacqueline Susmann


I ball up my iron fists and-
You Are Arctic Cold.

“How could you leave me?” I say
It’s calm, the words flow out of me naturally,
a summer stream running
through the woods by your house.

We make eye contact for the first time since
Your Body Went Limp.
I can remember when our eyes first
shook hands and made small talk.
Yours weren’t as bloodshot, and
mine weren’t so confident.

“You didn’t matter” you begin
“I felt like there was nothing left.”
Your honesty turns my insides
to boiling poison, acid without a solution.
I want to tell you all the countless occasions
where I’ve sat on my bed
-in the same state of mind you were in.
Nothing was left, I had been caught, there was no hope-
But You Always Mattered.

I woke up in the morning and
faced my self-inflicted monsters.
I turned them into kittens, grew fond of them.
I gunned the bruises on my thoughts into tattoos;
I can’t wait to be that old lady displaying idiocy as an armband,
things I can tell my kids I did when I was young and stupid.

You didn’t give your homemade monsters a chance
to grow on you, but instead
tried to erase permanent marker with your bare fingers.
You Let Your Mercedes Brain Be Driven By Mr. Jack Daniels.
He easily led your finger to that trigger
told you to squeeze,
and you shot your own Mercedes in the oil tank.

You closed your eyes forever, and
now you sit here, with a blue face and cold feet-
-while monsters turn into kittens and brains turn into cars, and
my eyes are really closed, falsely open, and you’re right there
but you’re not ever going to be.

The crystal partitions shatter around us.
I cover my eyes,
You Are Gone.


The Kraken

So this is the ocean.
Waves like pointed walls
sharp with the unknown,
encompassing the physical
yet home to the mythical.

Vision dimmed,
lack of light,
someone please pull up
the shades, even
The Kraken should see
his world spinning.

Kraken, why do you like
your lair so dark?
Come to the surface,
slip your tentacles through
your liquid ceiling.

For I have never
thought of you
when I was dry
-only when floating,
water too deep to stand,
toes branching for
anything solid, unmoving.

Child of Poseidon,
I know they promised
to spill your ink,
like spiced rum filming
over the salty plateau,
if you revealed
your shiny arms again.

But, if you wish,
take your chances with
one who cannot find
strength to hold a spear,
to rip apart a being
with anything other
than words.


Star Splatter

The universe, compact,
on the walls of my dorm room.
The glow stick explosion
had commenced and we were
all splattered, dancing,
drunk off of High Life and
the neon fumes that radiated
off of once white washed walls.

“The Milky way is on your ceiling!”

Covered in each others sweat
we laughed and chugged,
danced and painted.
All seven of us flowed as we floated-
a group of 20-year-old Pollocks lost
in the glowing mists of a medium discovery.

Neon globs in goblets of wine,
pollywogs in a spring pond;
The ceiling dripped sun drops
-liquid star soaked the carpet.

We are the Saturday-Night Explorers,
the Weekend Artists,
The Day-off Martyrs.
We drink to get drunk,
we splatter for justice,
break the rules
only to remind ourselves
we aren’t really free.


Jacqueline Susmann

is a Sophomore at Colby-Sawyer College majoring in Creative Writing. She discovered her passion for poetry at the young age of 14 years old. She loves New York Giants Football, the color yellow, high top Nikes, and thunderstorms. She has been published in local newspapers in her home state, Vermont, and various websites including sothere.com and pressboardpress. To her, poetry is a memory that has gone through a metamorphosis to become an emotion. If a poem does not cause feeling within the reader it is not finished. She believes the revision process is the most important and influential stage for a poem; it is the foundation of emotion, the sprinkles on a birthday cupcake, and the crown on the queen. A poem without revision is a blueprint without a contractor, a piece of music without a musician.