“Almost 10 Questions for Susie Meserve”

“Almost 10 Questions for Susie Meserve”

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Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.

Fourth grade, a poem called “Breeze.” Everyone around me was in agony over the assignment—we had to write acrostics about some kind of weather, then illustrate them—but I finished mine in record time. I thought, what’s so hard about writing poetry? Little did I know.

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“The Stranger Who Got Me Pregnant”

“The Stranger Who Got Me Pregnant”

Logo for Literary Mama, an online literary journal featuring work about motherhood.

January 2022

This was a mistake, I told myself. 

I’d been ritually repeating that phrase for the eight weeks I’d been pregnant, as the morning sickness became increasingly unbearable. Did cancer patients feel like this, I wondered, as though their bodies had been hijacked by malignant cells? Immediately ashamed of the thought, I still couldn’t escape the feeling that I’d been invaded by a 1.23 cm thing with two arm buds and a pumping heart. The yolk sac I saw on the first ultrasound, attached to a roundish nub the doctor said was the baby’s head, looked like a halo. 

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“Lazarus”

“Lazarus”

SWWIM Everyday literary journal logo

“Lazarus”

SWWIM Everyday, March 1, 2023

When I joked we’ll name him Lazarus
I meant perhaps he was a miracle,
how he stopped growing
and started again…

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“My Two-Year Old Bites and Hits. But That Doesn’t Make Him a Bully.”

“My Two-Year Old Bites and Hits. But That Doesn’t Make Him a Bully.”

Elephant Journal logo

My Two-Year Old Bites and Hits. But That Doesn’t Make Him a Bully.

October 11, 2018

Sam’s my second child, and he’s a tornado. He walked at 10 months and climbed the bunk-bed ladder a few weeks later. He’s physical and strong-willed, much more so than our older son, Leo, who’s 9. Leo never hit anyone except sometimes me. By the time he was 3, his verbal skills were sharp, and if Leo got whacked by his friends, often he had provoked it by needing to have the last word. But distracted parents on the playground don’t always see the lead-up. They raise their heads when a blow is landed, and the hitter is instantly labeled: That’s the bad kid, we all think. Or, perhaps: That’s the bad parent.

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