Expecting the worst I swam
out to you anyway
my mind rehearsing “rescue”
in silent black and white film
with a premonition that it was
all going to end badly because
in a panic to keep your head
above water I’d be drowned
right along with you and
yet I only half cared
but no one was home behind
the empty eyes that I looked
into for signs of life
your soul was already gone
your face as grey as the stormy sky
your weightless body light while
the water baptized you in my arms
both of us in suspended animation
strangers meeting for the first time
as your girlfriend screamed cut
to the director of your funeral
50 yards offshore and I kept waiting,
waiting for myself to feel something
waiting for your eyes to blink
and your lungs to ***** up
the lake that took you
She kept asking me if you were dead,
and I said I didn’t know
but I did know
I knew that you were ruined
and then it occurred to me that
I didn’t even care
as I towed your body into shore
with my disconnected mind
caught up in the slow motion
world of making,
and I wanted to care
so I tried to but I couldn't
You were dead and
dead is just dead

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2013

He would walk out alone two by two into
the Mishy Mashy woods a lot
to find what he'd forgot
On this day, when the air
smelled of meat charred and blackened
on crusting surfaces of peat, he remembered
that the sun was on time, and that he had to find
what he had missed before he got too old

He climbed up high to reach the handy stand
foot by foot wherein the foggy canopy space
is curvy and dewdrops are pearly
Thinking that his slicker slacker
was too bright for them to see
he misted his pelt smelt
The cranberry clearing below was regretfully empty

Yesterday, it bore the color of lavender
and reddish gold
He tried to clear the muggles
from his mind, or take a lichen to them,
but he couldn't, so he
put away his bow and
handed himself a pocket
In it was the hair of a locket
fair and bygone losted
His body was frosted
Still, as he ran his fingers through it
he gladdened, and sparked the why
of which he mainly camed

Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2012

I put you in a cardboard box
and stabbed you for no reason.
Stabbed,
knifed,
jabbed the brown paper
sack square for no reason.
Your innocent scarlet heart meant nothing.
I felt nothing, when it asked me
why I had bled its life out to slowly die.
Why?
Why?
Why?
The first question they ask is “Why”?
Try making water out of fire.
There was no reason.

I took my shadow out for a walk,
tripped and lay there without getting up~
lay there thinking of what I could create
with all the anguish, fear and hate that
I was born with. Me. A non-entity,
am beaten with a corn fiber broom
where paint chips fall off cobwebbed walls
and closet skeletons boo down halls.

So now it’s through.
And all of the happiness you thought you knew
I vacantly stole away.
A tonic for the living dead substituting
the milk of a mothers love
so that now neither of us
has anything left to gnaw on.

Written by Sara Fielder © 2012

Lick the potash with contempt
I’m made into~a silent frown of
balled up yarn and wood grain
My cold hands stretch these elastic hours
into days that pass two at a time

I lie around trying to
make sentences and love myself
Contaminated by tinnitus~
as expectant as a dog wearing
un-contained excitement
then let down when the sun
sets without a bone

My heart wound up with
bailing wire that works in vain to
show how much you mean to me,
and aches because of
all the fun we’re missing

Written by Sara Fielder © Oct 2012