Stranded (The queer tale of a pale stranger)
Suzanne Morris
September 6, 2026
I read a poem and was
taken with it
and wanted to read it aloud
to you
we were underground
in a concourse of some sort–
whether a parking garage, or
a train tunnel
I am not sure
but there were lights shining down
and a few people milling around
you were wearing your tan jacket
that zipped up the front
as you stood back a few feet
listening to me
read the poem, only some
of the words were obscure
and while I understood each meaning
from the root word
I stumbled on certain ones
then a stranger approached,
tall and spare and pale
his clothes were shabby
and yet he had
a fine intelligent face
and I wasn’t surprised when
he said he knew the poem
and offered to read it aloud for me
stretching out his long hands,
the palms upturned.
I took my place beside you
as the pale stranger
began to read
in a voice that was clear and
deep and resonant
correctly enunciating
every word
and often glancing at us
at the end of a stanza,
his eyes shining in awe at
its profound meaning
but then suddenly you told me
we needed to do some errands
and turned to walk away
I followed behind, pleading, shouldn’t we
let the man know we were
leaving and when we would come back?
But you ignored me and I remembered
you used to do that sometimes
as if you didn’t understand you were
leaving people stranded
since you knew where you were going
and when you would return
and as you walked on, and I hurried after,
I kept glancing back at the stranger
who kept on reading as if
he were so enthralled with the poem
he had forgotten everything else
yet I worried that, all the same,
he was wondering
if we were ever coming back
but still you kept on walking
and I kept following
wondering if you were ever coming back
to finish listening to
the reading of the poem
as the back of your tan jacket
gradually receded
in the distance
and you were still walking away
when I awoke from the dream
to find myself
reflecting on your tan jacket
how, for all this time
I have left it draped over
the back of your chair.
Before becoming a poet, Suzanne Morris was a novelist, with eight published works between 1976 and 2016. Many of her early poems were featured in her fiction, to advance the underlying themes. Since 2020, she has contributed poems to several anthologies, and has been published at a variety of online poetry journals, including The Texas Poetry Assignment. A native Houstonian, Ms. Morris has resided in Cherokee County for 17 years.
