Suzy Zeus Gets Organized (7 page)

Depakote, Alprazolam,

Paxil, Prozac, Turns, and Zoloft,

and she doesn't give a damn

that her shrinkie finds it "flippant."

He can turn his tail and scram.

Suzy lies there, late at night—the

kittens purr her favorite song.

Sleepy, Suzy slumps with all eight

feline friends to watch
King Kong.

Suzy's in the dark about what

pals their mom has brought along.

Fleas like beds, and fleas like sofas,

underneath and up on top.

Suzy cannot use a swatter—

fleas don't fly so much as hop.

Suzy grabs the yoga mama,

crying, "No, this hell must stop!"

Suzy fogs, but still has insects.

Suzy fogs, and fogs times three.

Dizzy from the fumes she nearly

weeps when something bites her knee.

Mist and spray and powder follow.

Now, thank God, she's insect-free.

Suzy names the next ones Yahweh,

Adonai, and Elohim,

Jesus, God, and Holy Spirit,

El and Ba'al. In a dream,

all the kittens worship Suzy

every time she pours them cream.

SUZY GETS TO CONEY ISLAND

Bit is feeding Suzy grapefruit,

cantaloupe, and eggs on toast.

Suzy's eaten men for breakfast.

Suzy Zeus liked Brad the most.

Suzy likes to pedal downhill,

still not satisfied to coast.

Being bound's the only way, the

rector says, of being free.

More in Heaven, more on Earth, than

dreamt in your philosophy.

As she cycles, Suzy chooses

flat for distance. Helps her see.

Suzy can be strong and silent.

Suzy can be loud and weak.

Suzy's filling, Suzy's spilling,

Suzy's learning how to speak.

Suzy's falling like a sparrow—

grass and grammar in her beak.

Ocean Parkway . . . ocean breezes . . .

union with the bike she's on . . .

red light . . . green light . . . Holy, Holy . . .

Matt and Mark . . . and Luke and John . . .

Suzy checks the tomb and sighs. He's

just another guy who's gone.

Suzy's mind is slowly mending—

brains are, after all, just meat.

Knees and ankles . . . Rhythmic bending

powers Suzy down the street.

Wonder Wheel. The journey's ending.

Suzy on her own two feet.

To her left, the Russian third-hand

thrift stores, where she wants to shop.

Straight ahead, that turning tower.

To her right, the rusted drop.

Someone died there, long ago, when

fun in free-fall didn't stop.

Suzy waits below the capsule

as it slowly rotates down,

buys a ticket, steps aboard, ascends.

Manhattan's air is brown.

She can see the Chrysler Building.

She can see the whole damn town.

Suze revolves to face the ocean,

watches water swell and toss.

Thinks of her aborted mission.

Feels the power. Feels the loss.

Wonders, with enough confession

could she ever walk across?

T-shaped pier and wooden boardwalk.

Crabbers crab without a sound.

Suzy's level with the rusty

skeleton. She turns around.

Upturned faces near as she returns

to dusty, solid ground.

Suzy Zeus is making phone calls,

first to Jesus, then to Freud.

Suzy's writing invitations,

shouting questions at the void.

Suzy wonders where they are now—

all the men that she's enjoyed.

Suzy's singing on the mountain.

Suzy's silent in the mine.

Suzy's humming, making hash—and

pickles with her tears for brine.

Asking God to come for dinner.

Asking God to bring the wine.

Acknowledgments

This book owes its existence to Andrew Solomon, Suzy's oldest flame, biggest fan, and most exacting redactor. My gratitude to him knows no bounds. For their insight and support, I am greatly indebted also to Jeanne McCulloch, my editor; Jeff Posternak, my agent; and Christopher Ashley, Sarah Banks, Tom Beckett, Jude Biersdorfer, Tom Breidenthal, Christian Caryl, Max Cavitch, Dana Cowin, Robin Desser, Jennie Dunham, Ruth Ferguson, Roger Ferlo, Deborah Garrison, Robert Gottlieb, Anne Harlan, Liz Harlan-Ferlo, John Hart, Carol Henderson, Cheryl Henson, Elissa Lane, David Rakoff, Anne Richards, Pat, Rex, Tim, and Tory Robbins, Martijn Schot, Margaret Schultz, Amy Schwartz, David Shuler, Polly Shulman, Lucy and Priscilla Smith, Jim Standard, Tim Vasen, Greg Villepique, Howard Waldman, Mary Ellen Ward, Pete Wells, Susan Wheeler, Susan Wojtasik, and especially Joan Keener and Jaime Wolf. My final thanks go to Clay Shirky, for introducing me to Suzy in the first place.

A Note on the Author

Maggie Robbins is a psychotherapist living and working in New York City. With composer Robert Maggio, she wrote the libretto for the opera
Hearing Voices: Joan of Arc at the
Stake,
which was performed at Pennsylvania's West Chester University. Her collages and assemblages have been shown from SoHo to Alberta and included in such books as M. G. Lord's
Forever Barbie: The History of a Real Doll.
She is fluent in Swahili. This is her first book.

A Note on the Type

Linotype Garamond Three is based on seventeenth-century copies of Claude Garamond's types, cut by Jean Jannon. This version was designed for American Type Founders in 1917 by Morris Fuller Benton and Thomas Maitland Cleland, and adapted for mechanical composition by Linotype in 1936.