by Susan Terris

The mirror in the alcove catches
the northern drift of the bay.
The last apples are windfall now.
Here where granite and shingle merge,
a solitary woman shifts in and out
of shadow, as her moccasins scuff snake-lines
in the tidal zone. Her consolation:
a shard of Chinese pottery left
by receding water, an unbruised apple.
Here the shadows have probing hands.
She would try to escape but they finger
her name and her secrets.
She would turn back, shatter
the mirror. But then, how would she
know who she is?

*

Susan Terris’ books include Contrariwise, Natural Defenses, and Fire is Favorable to the Dreamer. Her work has appeared in many journals, including The Southern Review, The Journal, and Ploughshares. A poem of hers appeared in Pushcart Prize XXXI. She is the editor ofSpillway Magazine. She is also poetry editor of In Posse Review and ofPedestal. Her new book The Homelessness of Self will be published by Arctos Press in 2011.