Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.
Find here: stories that creep up on you, poems to stumble over, and the weird words I hold them in.
Or, let me catch you at www.suzekay.com
Before I die I must suffer So I may better love Being alive // Nothing brings me comfort When I fight for what I want
By Suze Kay4 months ago in Poets
if you tell me where we're going then i'll tell you where i went after the marathon. you won't like it. i did. you sent me like an orphan to the countryside in wartime, you wouldn't look me in the eye so i did, in the mirror: teeth bared, never flossing.
Are you curious? When you nose the dark It knows you back. It pulls and repels your ruff And keeps your tail low. Tread light.
It was well after 8AM, but Lola could hardly tell. All that crossed through the blinds was a weak, grayish light. In her old apartment, light poured in through her tall windows as soon as the sun rose. Not here, in a ground-floor apartment where all the windows faced a neighboring building.
By Suze Kay4 months ago in Fiction
Always on the road, sloughing off the remains of Bethlehem behind me. It was there I bore the Child. It was there I ascended
When my cousin turned 25, we laid out on the boathouse dock and watched the Perseids interrupt the same old sky. "Do you have any goals for this year?" I asked her.
By Suze Kay4 months ago in Writers
Hello, death. I got your message. I found the gift. The possum on the roadside whose pouch I checked for babies; colder than air. Emptier, too.
Come 2AM, I'll call to remind you: No one is an empty sea. No one loves no one, and no one is loved. // I affect the world and the world effects me.
Sometime in the early hours of the new year, a small trailer was abandoned on the side of I-87-S. It was called in a week later by a man who drove that stretch regularly.
By Suze Kay5 months ago in Criminal
It's hard to be a woman in a world that wants you less Than a blow-up doll; than a dishwasher; than a coin-operated Jukebox cranking out the same tired hits.
By Suze Kay6 months ago in Poets
The shirt I pull on after still smells like me fresh after a shower, the magnolia oil I slathered on my limbs this morning in pumps of two or three or four:
Do you like reading books that walk the line between surrealist revelry and gritty, embodied horror? Me too. This list started as a way for me to figure out the five best books I read this year. As I made my selections, I realized that I was actually constructing a different list altogether. Here are some things that all of these books share:
By Suze Kay6 months ago in BookClub