:: Article

Suck & other poems

By Sarah Simon.


when contemplating Reinhard Heydrich
I don’t conceive like I do
even goose (never for lunch, only seen.)

he had a long nose, I
think. he looked proud. Aryan
face, fascist.
murderer. evil?
naming, nominating–
thinking to distract thought

I don’t conceive graveyards like I do
quotidian concrete–
the tenuous outweighing stone:

there was a problem with the soup,
goulash in lieu of mushroom!
no worries, however;
“I’m sure it will be good-tasting as well.”

I think it is very alright
and very o-k
to sing Hall & Oates
and discuss television
when walking out of

to have your most pressing worry,
that is only life for we ruminants
who are lucky enough to conceive ruminating

you can’t eat desserts forever

mmmm, honey sugar,
you with your leaping lids of
you nut case,
dressed in white chocolate

macadamia raging the brain causing
in your
paranoid sweet

tooth pondering the preheat the
the butter the
battered drain and

the time.

My lustful lids’ rhyme.
what do they see?

heat, my sweet.
enough to singe the oneirism
of matrimonial butter-


perhaps the toothpick inserts too
and the gesticulating tongues begin
to sear with

Carpe Diem fear.

this is all
hasty, so
let our burning cool on a rack
of steel and
give it

that which be the shriveling salt of
all things supple
but can create some new
and call it

Tour of Budapest’s Jewish Quarter

do not put idols
keep the Shabbat

from Genesis:
red is blood
gr–her tongue rolls–green
is hope

yes, hope like when I look up
she banters with ascendant view
she is maybe joking

we have to be happy
cry when we go to funeral
but we have to be happy

Ashkenazi, Eastern Europe
Sephardic to Spain

she was telling me about it:
Hebrew school so young

turn and pray towards Jerusalem

“can you tell me? I help you”
Moses got the 10 at Sinai

after bar mitzvah they laugh and pray she rolls her eyes palms open
praying to her teaching
her teaching her
she dances to help us understand
“do you remember?”

we have a nice high holiday
it is symbolizing
“ok, we go.”

“my grandmother was…”

“I will tell you what is kosher”

half million killed
“terrible number”


she paces to and from
the chalkboard
ebb and flow in her
thought experiment
choking on philosophy.

philosophy is possibility
and he who calls out
likes that. so much that
he doesn’t say anything.

do we rely on principles?
on roles?
on bodily continuity theory?

his lips push forward, pull
back. ebb and flow in
his mind. and the air before
the tugging becomes tired.

but his firing never tires.
the “likes” between “ums”
and violent gesticulation
want to breathe, suck the sour air.

does oxygen tire of our sucking?
our huffing?
our sucking and huffing?

yes. but it gets its revenge
condensing in my throat
on a pillow. feeding me the honey
i will suck tomorrow.


Sarah Simon is a self-diagnosed polymath. In other words, she finds herself fascinated by a lot of different things. Major interests include photography, poetry, working with people. As an undergraduate, Sarah has been able to obliterate her mind and expand it; to her, poetry is the in-between.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, October 11th, 2015.