Tag: poem

2010s · All the Tiny Anchors · Poetry

Westwood Boulevard (Why I Can’t Go Back)

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I.

because I’d have too many questions
like does her husband know
have you ever met her children
do your parents know about her
does she hate your new car
or your new 60-inch TV
does she love the extra 20 pounds
I left behind

II.

because I know exactly
how small your ass really is
how you taste in the shower
how your eyes are lost
first thing in the morning
how you loved those thin pillows
from World War II
how you bought a fat one
just for me
how I know you really meant it
at the time

III.

because I’m still counting days
they are all anniversaries
of first times, of last times
of times we drove for no reason
my calendar dates lay over
like a transparency
so it’s all how-long-since
how-many-days-until-it’s-been
and every case on People’s Court
mentions November and Hurricane Sandy
then we’re standing there on the Boulevard
you said we need to talk
find some place for dinner
we missed our movie
I could unmake plans with you all weekend
it was cold enough to wear a sweater
I can almost count the hours

IV.

because I forgot to hate you
though you really wished I would

V.

because I told everyone
with eyes or ears near these words
I spoke you out loud
I own my story—this is mine
I will love it long after your scent
is rubbed off my page
 

First published in Tic-Toc Anthology (Kind of a Hurricane Press).

2015 · Events · Publications · Special Projects

Like a Girl: The Pre-Show!

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LaG The Pre Show
Cover art by Fernando Gallegos

For the last several months, my poetry partners, Nancy Lynée Woo, Terry Wright, and I have been working on a project very near and dear to us, Like a Girl: Perspectives on Feminine Identity. This second anthology from Lucid Moose Lit received almost 800 submissions of poetry, prose, and art. We struggled to narrow that number down to an amount we can work with, so a grand alternative was found! We created a zine version, Like a Girl: The Pre-Show!, in time for release at the LA Zine Fest on February 15th. Debbie Cho, who helped inspire the project, joined us to help design and layout our precious creation. We are a proud family giving birth to a beautiful zine full of the words and art of many members of our community. I even have a little piece about those silly jelly shoes! You can pick up a special limited release version at the LA Zine Fest or other local events we will be participating in. Perfect bound editions will soon be available on Amazon and in local indie bookstores. To find the most recent information about this or other related projects, go to LucidMooseLit.com!

 

2010s · Conversations with Gravel · Poetry · The Unnamed Algorithm

View at 4 A.M.

Sarah Thursday1 Comment

You, a landscape sloping
down into soft valleys
where I trace your bare
terrain outlined in moonlight,
I rest on your dark side
how you speak clearest
in silence still as mountain tops
I, lying in your slant night,
an eager traveler pulling
at your dawn, sunrise us—
turn and move earth in me.

First published in Cliterature.

2010s · Anchors (Poetry with Music) · Poetry · Recordings · The Unnamed Algorithm

If I Ever Have Children

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If I ever have children
they will never know me in my thirties
the woman checking it off
all the things-to-do
like a master’s degree
and home buying
like falling in love completely
and writing a book of how it ends
finding new community
and loving her whole body flawed
flinging open all the doors
and surrendering to the unknown next

If I ever have children
they will never know me in my twenties
the woman fighting against it
to save her own soul
find her own belief in God
and lose her given self
venture out from community
live alone, love alone
sort through the old baggage
give them names and abandon them
find focus for talents and energies
and heal the damage at all costs

If I ever have children
they will never know me in my teens
young girl trying masks
on and off each year
like too many friends
and partying far too young
like black dyed-hair and boots
sinking down through the cracks
sharp turn into a Christian life
and a radical-faced community
stepping through the windows
where she’d press her face to the glass

If I ever have children
they will never know me as a child
a broken girl holding
a green Picasso heart
running with one parent from the other
always leaving school early
memories in paper bags stashed
in the trunk of a broken-down car
with walk-in closets for the skeletons
and attics for hiding and running free
words swallowed in torn pieces
forcing her destiny as a poet

 

Originally published in The Mayo Review, also included in The Unnamed Algorithm.
Listen to the poem on SoundCloud, from Anchors CD.

Events · Feature Readings

Power Of Words Open Mic

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541588_853164078069905_8444287811066025492_nOn February 5th, I get to read poetry with some of my favorite people at this really great venue, Manazar Gamboa Theater in Long Beach, hosted by Felicia Cade. The P.O.W. (Power of Words) Open Mic will have my two favorite things: poetry and music. I’m planning on a special set of poems for the month of love. You are all invited to come down and share a song or poem of your own. 1323 Gundry Ave. in Long Beach. Begins at 7 pm! Including performances by JL Martindale, Keayva Mitchell, Alex Hattick, Fernando Gallegos, and more!

RSVP on Facebook

2010s · Poetry · The Unnamed Algorithm

White Sandals

Sarah ThursdayLeave a comment

A ten year old girl
stood in the alleyway

in white buckled sandals
that made her feel too tall—

like someone twelve not ten
like someone more carefree,

sandals for a girl who could just
be a girl and not—

one begging her mother not
to walk away,

pleading her only parent to stop
going farther down

into the alleyway dark.
Heels slightly wobble and tilt

on bare red ankles
on ten year old legs

always ready to run.

4-20-13
(Originally published in Disorder: Mental Illness and Its Affects)

2014 · Books · Publications · The Unnamed Algorithm

The Unnamed Algorithm

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Unnamed Algorithm PB Cover copyIn the spirit of Christmas, I decided to put together a new chapbook from many of the poems I had published in 2014 for my friends and family. The title comes from the first poem in the book, “Love Letter No. 1: To My Pit-Bull Self”. Most people don’t know how mathematically my mind actually operates. At the same time, I rely on my intuition daily. I do not see them as contradicting.  I see it as an automatic calculated procedure, or algorithm, my brain carries out to make many decisions the same way we breathe without having to tell ourselves to breathe. I have grown to depend on this more and more as I have Life less and less planned out. The cover art, by the ridiculously talented Fernando Gallegos, is a spiral staircase which also has mathematical meaning and beauty.

It’s a small chapbook with only 28 pages. I have some limited edition copies with a vellum-layered cover available by special request or in person. The perfect bound, matte cover version will be available through the Sadie Girl Press website soon.

2015 · Publications

In-Flight Literary Magazine

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paper-plane Issue #2 of In-Flight Literary Magazine is now available for your viewing pleasure! I am very pleased to have two poems I am especially fond of included, “Paper Airplane” and “Gill Growing”. The feature poet of this issue is fellow Gutters & Alleyways contributor, Anthony Khayat.  In addition to poetry, this site also features fiction pieces. Take some time and read some creative work with your new year. Get inspired and send them some of your own for the next issue!

2014 · Publications

Elsewhere Lit: Issue 3

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329646_10150461596698532_1770780087_oI am thrilled to have two poems, “Yellow” and “Fruit of Your Offspring”, in the new issue of the completely revamped online journal Elsewhere Lit. They have poetry, prose, and visual art to please the eyes and heart. Take a few minutes to check out this gorgeous site ran by Nandini Dhar and others. Includes work by my friend and Cadence poet, J.D. Isip.

2010s · All the Tiny Anchors · Poetry

Flourish

Sarah ThursdayLeave a comment

The possibility of birth since our death
has passed, yet— in nine months
a new life is here now, where you abandoned us.
This Thursday girl, my child, my only daughter,
has become the woman you will never know, like
you once knew
the most unlit folds of me.

I birthed her from my own black ashes and none
of the fragile skin of you. She lives in my night side,
grows in those thick shards, those tire weight pocks.
She flourishes in the white vacuum space you
sucked out from me
like a plane window under pressure cracked,
spidering—
instantly gone.

She loves the deafened stillness and
grows in my gnawing hunger, grows out
through my fingernails and the follicles
of my new hair-the softness of which
you will never know—
like you once knew the lather and rinse of it.
 
First published in The Mayo Review (2014), also appears in All the Tiny Anchors.