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Mar 2018 · 104
About Me
Sara J Mar 2018
Somewhere there is a poem
sweetly written about me
which flatters and professes
its love eternally.

Somewhere there is a poet
with longings unrequited
who pours words out like water
to douse the fire I ignited.

Dear unrequited poet,
that I can't love you is a pity.
We are like one, both you and I,
but I can't love one who is so much
like me.
Mar 2018 · 129
Unread Letters
Sara J Mar 2018
Delivered, not read:
my best words left unsaid.
I chose them just for you
hand-picked them,
turned each one over
to inspect with a secret smile
as I thought of you
inspecting them too.
Was such a fine letter
ever written for you?

I threw caution to the wind
when I dropped my words
in your letter box
and waited patiently
for them to find you.

Then you
with your casual apathy
and your cool disregard
dropped steele-blue eyes
on the unopened envelope
and did not break the seal
or think of it twice.

To this day
it must still be on your coffee table
a piece of rubble
beneath piles of junk mail
a scrap paper
upon which you scribble notes
beneath the ashtray
that collects your used butts.

You never did care
for sentimental things
and I never knew
I was one of them.
Mar 2018 · 186
Coyotes
Sara J Mar 2018
The coyotes were crying last night
giving chase to some morsel
too quick to catch,
too small for their appetite.

Their crying went on the whole night long
as they trekked the boundless woods
behind the cabin where I lay awake,
turning in bed like a rotisserie.

Creatures of the night conjoined,
restless mind joining restless paws
in pursuing an aimless chase
while timid sleep ran like a rabbit.
Mar 2018 · 208
The Payment
Sara J Mar 2018
Death came tap-tapping
at my window one night
where a lone lantern was lit
above my windowsill
like a single coal burning
in the belly of night.

Death had a plain enough face
not horrid or frightfully grinning
but only tired and ordinary
as he made the weary last round
at the end of his shift.

I opened my window a crack
to see what he wanted
and he slithered inside like a cool breeze
and he sat on the foot of my bed.

“Worry not, I have not come to collect your whole life’s debt,”
said he, “I have come for only one small payment, you see.”
I did not protest, for these are loans we all must pay,
and my day to die was not that day.

Death reached his gentle hand
inside my chest cavity
and rummaged around
behind my heart
into the pit of my stomach
until he finally grasped
a feeling deep down,
a precious gem of hope
that I had kept well hidden,
and it was this that he pulled out
and he put it in his purse.
“For now this will suffice,” he said,
“I shall leave you to your bed.
Adieu until we meet again.”
and he left through the window as
as quick as he came.

I lay back in my bed both restless and weary
With a draft in my chest
where my treasure had once been.
There the dark it did occur to me
that the lantern light on my windowsill
had gone out along with my payment.
Mar 2018 · 197
Your Bathroom
Sara J Mar 2018
Our stray hairs intermingle
in a corner on your bathroom floor.
Your round black curls
and my long looping threads
forgettably accumulate behind the toilet
forming a forensic collage -
the only evidence of a recurring union
between you and I.

Although the towels are always crumpled
on the floor in damp disarray
and the barren toilet paper roll
is always on its last ply,
I will visit my reflection
in your bathroom mirror once again
and once again
I won't know why.

— The End —