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Approximate Tuesday by Susan Sweetland Garay Now Available


Approximate Tuesday is a profoundly moving series of poems written by Susan Sweetland Garay. Susan’s writing is influenced by nature in the Pacific Northwest and her travels. This book is a 148 perfect bound paper back.


About the Author

Born and raised in Portland Oregon, Susan Sweetland Garay received a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature from Brigham Young University, spent some years in the Ohio Appalachians and currently lives in the Willamette Valley with her husband and 2 cats where she works in the vineyard industry.

She spends her free time writing, growing plants and making art. She enjoys finding beauty and meaning in the everyday. She also appreciates and enjoys showcasing the imperfections that make real life beautiful and unique.

She has had poetry and photography published in a variety of journals, online and in print.

She is a founding editor of The Blue Hour Literary Magazine and Press and relishes the work that she does there.

More of her work can be found at


In the depths of all seasons, there is mystery and wonder, love and childlike dreams. Approximate Tuesday is touching, soulful and genuine.

Shannon Lynette, author of Lady on a Wire and editor at Lady Chaos Press

Susie has a special way of writing with lovely, delicate language while maintaining power, strength, and meaning in each poem. Approximate Tuesday is filled with wisdom, growth, an appreciation for life and the earth, and a wide array of feelings of the human experience. Her poems are honest, intimate, and delivered with a unique voice.

Heather Minette, author of Rooftops and Other Poems

Susan’s poems radiate with the beauty of the natural world. She captures and honors our harmonies and disharmonies–the sense of wonderment of a life lived in perpetual discovery, the sense of reverence in the understanding that we are subject to the caprices of some much larger force of which the natural world is only a shroud through which the viewer can access the sacred. Her poems are composed with the seeming ease and loquacity of a Walt Whitman poem, yet like a Jane Kenyon poem they are content to rest in the silence of open spaces, where they contemplate (and struggle to accept) the fact of our impermanence.

Brian Le Lay
Writer and Editor at Electric Windmill Press


Sample Poems:

Back to its source

The coyotes all begin at once
as if they hear some sort of
internal, animalistic call to prayer.

In this place the
rain and sun have
both done their work,
drying out and
making wet again.

But being washed does not
always make a thing clean,
and anyway I don’t think
I want to sit here anymore

learning to live with
less and less water
while others seem
to drink their fill.

In the kitchen my mother hands me
a stack of my grandfather’s poems
and I wish not only my 10 year
old self had known him.

But the reading
brings understanding

and I know that even
with our irregular trajectory
each drop will eventually
lead us back to its source.

Winter days

Darkness comes so early lately
I don’t know what to make
of nights and days.
Time passes oddly.
Slowly and then suddenly.

I write in bed
under soft lamplight
instead of repotting
the plants in my

I sit beside a lamp
at my work table,
sawing over ink and copper
with a color so warm
I can almost warm
my hands by it.

Yesterday I paid a man
to stick needles in me.
I suppose we all have to
believe in something.

Brains are private places,
but sometimes
I like to invite
into mine.

The Optimist

The light on
the back porch
is flickering
when we
come in
from our walk.

The cat looks up
lazily from his

I am humbled
by the sky and
the moon and
possibilities of my
own body.

There is magic
in the things
they can do.

A woman is
built to grow
a child, so what
is she to do if
that part of her
is broken?

I am fragmented.

The optimist in me
may be just as
wrong as the
pessimist, but
the optimist
half is happier.

The book is available for purchase here:

9 thoughts on “Approximate Tuesday by Susan Sweetland Garay Now Available

  1. Pingback: Where is my brain? | allymalinenko

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