I got my proofing copy of my book in the mail today! I’m so happy with it. The cover is a soft matte, which I have been obsessed about, but wasn’t sure it would have. I love it! Just looking for any final polishing up and then ordering copies.
Category: Poetry
5:38 on Soundcloud
Another track from Anchors, “5:38”, is available to listen to on Soundcloud. This poem was also recently published in Carnival Lit Mag, Magic issue and will be included in All the Tiny Anchors, which will be available soon!
Seventy-Five Hours
Holding Barbie up to me, you said
“My mommy’s in jail”
and broke the strong girl face
that walked through my door.
I pulled Barbie up while you
cried in your thick five-year-old legs
dressed in pink four-year-old pants.
In two weeks you’d be six
starting first grade. You knew
your letters and how to write your name.
How to write “I love you, Mommy”.
You said you were mad at her
for going to jail, for doing bad things.
In my foreign home, you laughed
at SpongeBob and played
with unfamiliar toys. You should
have been in Santa Barbara
buying new school clothes—
instead you were with strangers
in Lakewood Mall Target
buying clothes for a six-year-old,
guessing your size underwear.
I took you to a fair at the beach
but forgot to bring cash,
so we stared at the things
that neither of us could have.
We danced in my backyard,
blew bubbles for the dog,
and sang the song, “Whooooo
lives in a pineapple under the sea?”
They found the man you called
Daddy One—or maybe Two—
but you called him a number.
You cried when I told you
he was on his way. His name
was on your birth certificate,
so he drove from Santa Barbara
over two long hours.
He cried when he saw you—
you did not cry when you saw him.
I kissed you on your forehead.
You left with Daddy One
and bags of new school clothes,
back to Santa Barbara.
In less than five minutes,
I returned to my own house empty
of your laughter, SpongeBob still
on the Netflix queue.
9-29-13
Originally published on Ishaan Literary Review
Cover of my book!
Pyrokinection
I’m very excited to have my poem “Honey” included in Pyrokinection. It is another one from my upcoming poetry book, All the Tiny Anchors.
Tic Toc Anthology
I am honored to have my poem, “Westwood Boulevard (Why I Can’t Go Back)” included in Tic Toc, an anthology about time. The editors asked “authors to let their minds drip through the hourglass…authors created a kaleidoscopic array of time tunnels for the reader to travel through. So take a moment, pick a door, allow yourself to fall into and through visions of past memories, revel in tangible interpretations of today, or leap light-years ahead of your own future.”
You can download a FREE PDF copy or buy a print copy from Amazon for less than ten bucks!
Night Swimming as Ceremony
I didn’t respect her
she was terrible at her job
we were grateful when she was gone
it annoyed me that she wrote her name
on the cover of my booksthat none of her sets were complete
that she left a mess behind
but then……she was really gone
all those psychological stresses
were physical and actual disease
I didn’t watch it happen
the last face I saw was a constant
frantic-edge state
dark-circled and wornshe reminded me of my mother
in her darkest times
the numb fail-safe state
I learned as a child kicks in
I feel nothing………for her
only for her children—
the ache of those young hands
the sink of those feet
the electric……..quiet
left beside her husband
I can’t feel the lost
only the left
the dark placid eyes
I know as well as swimming
how ache becomes a sea
breath-holding under black skies
I’d pour out her ashes where
she left her children swimming
First appeared on Ishaan Literary Review
Rejoice in My Anger and My Apathy
Tiny creatures are living in my stomach
They are living off the lining, gnawing holes
They returned or were dormant for years
They remind me that I’ve held back too long
That I need to let more of it go
Pack that box, donate to charity
They burrow deep, clenching tight
They love my body in ways I never will
They are singing choruses in unison
They know my diet, my lack of vegetables
They know how many times I’ve cried
When coffee cannot cure the ache
They love that, it feeds them
When I hold it in, when I stay awake
They rejoice in my anger and my apathy
They love not when I love and laugh
It dissolves them, it starves them
I do battle with them every single day
I count in to breathe and slow release
I lay my hands and rebuke them
I pray to their gods for forgiveness
Soon they must migrate or move on
Originally published in Carnival: Black, White, and Coffee.
The Reef of Clouds
You can follow the link and read “The Reef of Clouds” published in this lovely journal, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly. I had the honor of reading it with Raquel Reyes-Lopez and many other talented poets on May 31st at the Santa Catalina Branch of the Pasadena Public Library.
Sharon as Segue
We had a talk after our first real date
I used Sharon Olds’s Gold Cell as segue
poems of damage and fracture
told like a spy from war.
I needed you to know
enough to understand
enough to get why.
Before I shed my clothes
I had to untie those secrets
to lay them out across our laps.
Feet up on the coffee table
I had to look away as I always do
and tell you
how damaged I was
how broken my heart had been
before I ever saw it coming.
How it wouldn’t be personal
how it wouldn’t be about you
how I carried this weight all my life
how I didn’t know if I could rest it.
You sat stone quiet
arm across my shoulders
you kissed my hair
locking your knees under mine.
Originally published in Carnival: Black, White, and Coffee and also part of All the Tiny Anchors.
Sarah Thursday 