Archive for April, 2014

The Finish Line

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 30, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

This isn’t goodbye. This is hello to

a different kind of battle, one I’ll fight in

longer strides, bigger and bolder strokes

of color, too long overdue. This isn’t

goodbye, but you might not see me

for a while, dear friend–

and upon my return I may be scarred.

I won’t be wounded, at least no

more than I am now. This isn’t goodbye.

I’ll see you at the finish line,

though I’m not sure how far away it is.



Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 30, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

This is the twenty-ninth time I sit down to write

something meaningful, and fail, instead resorting

to imagining what life will be when I am not now,

when I am twenty-nine. Will my words be something

meaningful then? Will they fall around me, my house

of cards, collapsed under the weight of self-involvement?

It will be called My Golden Birthday, the collection of

words and failures and all those home-improvement-projects.

It used to seem so far away: twenty-nine, a distant magical

moment when my friends would gather and celebrate

some meaningless thing like my birth. Now I know better.

It ain’t so far off now, and I can see what it will be.

Just another day to rack up the dusty numbers,

cue the break(down), and play a drunken game of pool.



Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 30, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

If the sum of stuff equals life,

I am unfinished. So many things

started–paintings, novels, and yes,

poetry too. Relationships short-lived,

attempts at learning to dance, songs

half-sung, out-of-tune, hovering in

a dusty corner, awaiting a final

chorus. The typewriter is waiting

for another page of my story to be

writ. The canvas is awaiting another

warm coat of paint. And this poem,

lain bare–always needing something


Cutting it Close

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 28, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

The bleat of the clipper can be heard often

in the early hours, before dawn awakes,

before I have gone to sleep. I am no sheep,

but I am shearing myself, cutting away what

I can: surgery close to the skull.

I could knit everything I’ve taken from myself

into a hairshirt, but this time I’m not doing

penance, and it’s too late for anyone else to.

At least I’m lucky–it’s an endless resource.

I can keep cutting cutting cutting it close

to the bone, bits of red and brown, but never

bleed, and when it’s done, it’s a clean sweep.

se7en (L)

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , , , on April 27, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

Lean against one another, drunk with desire.

Unmake what you were making, instantly, easily.

Sacrifice the possible for what can’t be.

Trust–untrustworthy. But don’t cry to me.

On the Way Up

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on April 26, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

This is the last time I will be anything but

doubtful of anyone who isn’t you,

whoever you are, wherever, in that endless

moment, looking in through pain, glassy but

certain, high: mounting to climb a long way

alone. I know that we are strangers and will

probably be old or dead or nothing before we

can rest from the climb. But I’ll keep going,

on this lonely road that I have chosen, seeking up,

going my own way and thinking always of you.

Considering the Seesaw

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 23, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

A simple fulcrum, in simple red,

Unique in shape, designed for eight,

Resting solemn in a field of wheat.

Awaiting us, who bring boombox blaring

To ride in rhythm to a foreign place.

Where all is well, there’s indoor plumbing,

Electrics and something to eat.

A place we don’t have to argue,

We can just ride into the gold of

Sunset, the brightest part of night.