Suzanne Highland is a graduate of Florida State University’s creative writing program, where she has studied under poets Kara Candito and Erin Belieu, as well as Pulitzer Prize winning fiction author Robert Olen Butler. Her work has been published in The Kudzu Review and the FSView and Florida Flambeau. She currently lives and works in Sarasota, Florida.
An Edict for the Expatriate’s Mornings
From Buenos Aires balconies I made my peace
with the alien summer: I constructed
a cloud of silver dust, speed-reading
the rooftops, barely touching anything.
The key is removing yourself from reality.
You must be as though you are not, must be
a likeness in the café window, a reflection
with a camera, looking in.
You will find yourself toe-to-toe with
some transcendence. Reading Emerson
in the botanical garden may seem to clarify,
but the flowers did not grow for you.
The roads did not unfold for you.
The traipsing routine was there before.
This morning, for all its elemental elegance,
was already happening too. It did not grow from my
sleeping mouth or awake to provide a song.
It unfurled like a low fog and turned traffic-filled.
You will soon realize you live a life apart. See the
cloud, be like me. I have balconies. I can see
things before they touch me. A boy speaks
your language, do not fall for him. A parrot
in the window would do better,
would speak your words right back to you.