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 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
sushii
you were
the sun
you were
the light
you were
the hope
you were
the candle
you were
the warmth
you were
here long ago.
 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
sushii
what's left to say?
nothing's here
what's left to hold?
it feels so wrong

there's no way to talk
it's all gone
my hope is dim
barely hanging on
like a *****'s limb
 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
mal monson
Drag out of

Bed and into

Clothes for the

Day. Stumble into

The bathroom and

Brush, rinse, spit.

Line eyes: one,

Two, three. Each

eye, each lid

Gets three. No

More, no less.

Slide down the

Stairs but do

Not forget the

Gate. Throw on

Shoes and make

Way into the

Kitchen. Grab something

To eat – wait

Don’t. Coffee won’t

Make sick so

Just pack a

Lunch for later.

Leave for school

And brave the

Day, take it

In threes. Count

Your steps: one,

Two, three. Earbuds

In; can’t hear

A thing. Class

Passes ever so

Slow, sludging along

Until all the

Threes are up.

Make playlists in

Threes to make

Sure it’s enough.

Everything done is

In threes because

Anything else would

Be too much.

Even in twos

Or ones. Take

Care of body

Of mind of

Living space in

Threes. Clean and

Nourish to remain

As healthy as

Can be with

Allergies and sensitivities

To almost everything.

Do the best

That can be

Attained and maintained

Without a toll

In the long

Run. Remember to

Go by threes.

Listen, breathe, be.

One, two, three.
 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
sushii
let in
 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
sushii
one day
the dark left
and the clouds parted
it was the smallest separation
of Heaven's lips

the light passed
through the thin line of sun
a beam cutting through the cream-colored sky
the soft glow
of the rays upon your cheeks

the warmth brushed
against your soft skin lightly
a whisper of hope
and a lullaby of love


slowly,
surely,
i will let you in
again
 Dec 2018 Sarah Elaine
Al Drood
Sand buried parched skull
exposed by excavation,
jaw-gaping in silent
death’s head yawn.

Is eternal sleep so boring?  
Or do you scream
down the centuries
“Let me be!”  

Impotent rage, as trowel
scrapes on bone,
desecrating thy memory
in pursuit of knowledge.
festive busyness
smell of cinnamon and warmth
happiness returns
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