Why Would I Ever Throw It Out?
By Tonya Suther
Broken face, matted hair, me propped up
on a gurney. Someone once told me trauma
lives in the body. It sits and waits in a throne
in the corner of a cold room,
in a robe that fades with every wash.
My mother washed and dried her hair
before rushing to the ER to see me,
her face flushed with makeup. I remember
how she looked when she got there,
how she smelled like patchouli,
like the last party she threw.
The fluorescent lights of the ER
brought out her eyes, her smile,
her warmth, like these pink fuzzies that warm
my shoulders at three in the afternoon.
Tonya Suther is a USAF veteran, a former news writer, and an award-winning poet. Her work has appeared in The Academy of American Poets, 2 River View, Zócalo Public Square, and others. Suther’s chapbook is On the Brink (Dancing Girl Press, 2021). She lives in Georgetown, Texas, and teaches various English classes at Austin Community College.
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