Lit eZine Vol 5 | p-2 | AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT | Poetry by Suzanna C. de Baca – Manic Sylph Writes… Poetry & Thoughts by Mona Soorma

We bring to you our featured writer Suzanna C. de Baca
with her poetry
WAXING GIBBOUS MOON,
THE JOY IS IN THE JOURNEY
and her prose
ONE DAY ON 86th AND 5th
plus
AN INTERVIEW with Suzanna C. de Baca

Connect with Suzanna C. de Baca on Substack

Suzanna C. de Baca is a native Iowan, proud Latina, author and artist who is passionate about exploring change and transformation. She is a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative and her poetry has been published or will soon appear in: Etched Onyx Magazine; Wholeness: A Wising Up Anthology; Written Tales; Impermanent Earth; Voices de la Luna; Choeofpleirn Press Glacial Hills Review; Choeofpleirn Press Rushing Through the Dark; Best of Cheoefpleirn Press; Cheoefpleirn Press: Coneflower Cafe; Our Silent Voices Anthology; Black Fox Literary Magazine; iō Literary Review; Yellow Arrow Press; The Letter Review; Way Words Literary Journal; Telling Magazine; Plate of Pandemic and other outlets. She is the recipient of the Derick Burleson Poetry Award and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She lives in the small rural town of Huxley, Iowa, population 4244.

POETRY

WAXING GIBBOUS MOON

A couple standing on a car at sundown looking at the clouds — *Image by Jupilo*

The sun stands still,
ushering in the longest night. 
No stars. Only you, alone
in the sky, subdued by the light 
streaming from windows, 
glittering off balconies, 
reflecting the breath 
of the ocean, sparkling
on the mountains.

I see you there, glowing oval,
visible in your second phase,
tucked between New Moon 
and first quarter Moon.
You are radiant, a sphere
low on the horizon, not full, 
still forming. Under your eye,
nights will shorten, one by one, 
days yawning open, a sliver
at a time, beckoning us 
to emerge from the darkness.

But tonight, we are still here, 
together. Watching each other 
shift in December’s shadows,
stirring slightly, still waiting 
for an awakening, to become
more of ourselves. Clouds form, 
blocking the sky. I look down
on the teeming streets 
and hear the sound of footsteps 
on cobblestones, smell of rain 
hitting pavement.

THE JOY IS IN THE JOURNEY

Passenger on the subway — *Image by wal_172619*

I used to take the green line
from Union Square to Wall
Street, darting up and down
the subway stairs, pushing
through turnstiles, elbowing 
onto the train, jostling for a seat
or a handhold, in such a hurry
to get somewhere and back.

I used to jump on Metro North 
from Grand Central to Bronxville, 
rushing, heels clicking on cement, 
racing to the tracks, onto the car, 
careening down the aisle, balancing 
bags as the train shook and swayed 
away from the station, lurching
into a seat, pressing my forehead
against the cool glass of the window, 
exhausted, watching the buildings 
flash by as we sped along, checking
the clock, anxious about missing
my stop, focused on my destination.

Now, sometimes I long to ride 
up and down the rails, listening
to the rhythmic rattling sound 
of the train, going nowhere 
in particular, looking out at the
landscape, feeling the vibration 
of the cars radiating through me.
Someday I will be a passenger, 
not a driver, enjoying the view, 
scenery unfolding, rolling, rolling 
down the tracks, a wanderer with 
no point of disembarkation, no
no prearranged port of call, no 
need for terminus, accepting
the joy in the journey, one way 
ticket in hand, slowly, happily
riding to the end of the line