Everything seems harder.
The furniture we lounge,
the lighting.
What I put into my mouth.

I stay lit enough to function without slobbering.
Funny enough for them to think I mean it.
Creative enough without coming across as weird.

It happened upon a year of being alone.
I looked up and the child I'd forgotten was
not actually a child, cartwheeled away.

I stay sober enough to think I still matter,
and changed my name from Mom to
something vaguely familiar.
Oddly enough, a name my Mom gave me.

This level of impairment allows for memories
like the smell of baby **** to tease without
getting stuck on my imaginary teeth.

Without a word they turn into birds and fly their love away.
You go out to the driveway and stare,
and feel, and decide you're numb and
really dumb compared to other people.


Sara Fielder © Nov 2020

He who lives on the road discovers himself.
He who discovers himself becomes god.
In August we went on the road, and at that time
white rabbits powdered the sky.

Through the eyes of god we saw that we
were grateful to be as dry as twigs and dust choked.
Blessed is he who has alternate
waypoint settings programmed into the gps (lowercase).
Amen.

We never talked of Love -
discovering without words the sure things in life
are only understood when one is
quiet enough to listen to nothing.

Each evening we'd see faces
in the campfire.
A woman named Shirley whose
ember jaw dropped off.
On our last night I asked him to nail me to the ground.
The mean stars were egging me on to join them.


Sara Fielder © Nov 2020

Husbands own things.
Secrets, that aren't secrets unshared
in order to balance
the scale of insecurity and pride
they must be swallowed.

Champions dont know the difference.
They flower, pollinate,
and bare the blue depth
of who they are truthfully.
Kaleidoscopic voids that hear themselves
in the background
of  intelligence,
and don't pretend
they have to seem
so far away.

Sara Fielder © Nov 2020

God of Abraham
God of the wheat
God of the crusades and hoof beats.
Faith is what i have and crusted blood.

A harvest of hope waits for time to run out
as time runs out
during lifes penitentiary of labor and apologies.
It's regularity.

At last one looks up, and they are wise,
and words like these diminish meaning,
and you feel your lonliest among mankind.


Sara Fielder © Nov 2020

Rubbing the chin, overthinking,
I realize I am the last of my namesake.
I see myself in the armory - a hand full
of rosary with Wydville's weeping sigil and the sea became awash
south of the Saint's cathedral where I listened with religious intention that there was an order to take pleasure
in commission of the sword because what is in the vault was mine by right.

My knees were keen and cold against
blue marble, but I did it their way,
and I learned that the future will
be governed by lying children who
have minds that say God is an ******.


Sara Fielder © Nov 2020

In Gods Colosseum imagination was my playmate.
The eyes could almost eat the green things
taking their own individual tour of life.
Slowly, Slowly,
spaciousness sprung and it was venous.

Perfectly petaled perennials ping,
oxygen and nitrogen saturated natures blood to blueberry,
lawnmowers grazed, neighbors swept wicker welcome mats,
inviting old chips of skin to molt off and
birth gratitude into the mind~
to forge the sun into our souls as bright as bullion.

Are we not rich in symbiosis? Thankful for our machinery?
Arms, legs, eyes, olfaction~
a voice saying these things belong to you,
a voice skipping over the one asking
what else there is that there could be.

Sara Fielder © May 2020

In that close boundary between
thinking and feeling,
the one and only thing that pulls at you
are their zippered mouths insufflating,
so you'll snack memories
to temporarily satisfy yourself
like the bear at the zoo waving for
dog-food from the dispenser,
and intuitively know not to
put any words to it yourself to make it worse.
Either way, caution is the expectation,
and in this skeptical world
their alien motives are somewhere
lost in confusing rooms,
but understand it's because they're *******.
Because they are selfish, self centered and arrogant.
Because somewhere along the way
we unexpectedly become people
intimidated by their youth and beauty.


Sara Fielder © May 2020