After the gun is pointed at my head,
The wind fits into my pocket.
The lights go on.
I can smell kindness.
The moon is waiting for me.
The dogs understand my verbs.
Fire is my friend.
I stitch love into the lining of my jacket.
I take the slow train.
I taste things.
I catalog every kiss.
Sap runs back into the tree.
Paradise is a cello playing in the background.
Paradise is the bullet backing up into the gun.
Suzanne O’Connell is a poet living in Los Angeles. Her recently published work can be found in Poet Lore, American Chordata, Alembic, Forge, Juked, Existere, Crack The Spine, and Pennsylvania English. O’Connell was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. Her first poetry collection, A Prayer For Torn Stockings, was published by Garden Oak Press in 2016.