Today, I am soft, weak; a shell less hermit crab, You’re a seagull, beak snatching, eyes pitch and cold. Tomorrow, I will be that seabird, air-lifted, arrogant, Tomorrow is years away, but my strength is loyal, Shrieking back like cicadas just when I’ve forgotten, So, today, I say nothing, ask nothing, Nothing, nothing, Today, I say nothing. – Sara…
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My Muse is a Bastard
I wish you wouldn’t insist on waking me Early every morning, fingers in my hair, Sweet words on your lips An inch from my ear. I rise from bed, drunk, Full, ripe, words ready to spill forth; Yet, as soon as pen touches paper, They lighten, transform to cotton candy. And melt away gently in the rain, Leave me…
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The Crocodile Year
A colossus in the currents With claws drifting serenely down And green-gold eyes Seeing, but not revealing. Try explaining to that grinning mouth The merits of followers, likes on selfies, And checking “just one more” work email. We rush manically, frantically, As though we’re expected at our funerals Ten full years before the Reaper calls. Planned days laid out…
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Slam Poem
I’ve tried to write Succinctly, brutally, Vitally, seductively, But apparently, “Poetry” simply means Writing Like This – Sara Myriad, 2020
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Petals or Stars for Company
Let me not be a flower, With delicate blooms the sheerness of dreams, And a fondness for gentle touches, Or the longing to have my scent admired. Instead, let me be a comet Streaking through the night sky, Unashamed of my fire; dazzling, daring all to see. And yet….mysterious. Cold. Untouchable. – Sara Myriad
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Farewell to Summer
When my grandpa died, soon after my grandma, I drove up north with my husband, Thinking about an ice cream shop Where children sat and ordered real sodas That melted sticky sickly-sweet with ice cream. Of antique shops with names like Carousel, Matched by charming interiors. Or the flea market Only open on weekends, But I had all the…
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A Hole in the Ice
And when I leave you, It won’t be the gradual chill of winter mornings Found in the beginning of the season, When berries hang fat and red on their stems And birds puff up their feathers, Like old men hunched down in woolen scarves and mittens Lovingly made by old women. It will be a plunge into icy water, …
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Switch
I could circle you, ravenous, and take you as my prey, But I would rather roll onto my back gentle as clouds and let you have me under that watching blue sky. Control is an illusion but I keep reaching for it, Perhaps I’ve been waiting for the caress of words; the intoxicating loss of control. The muse imprisoned,…
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Lost Mirrors, New Seasons
And maybe you want to believe that every person who comes into your life is your soulmate or missing piece or the one who might finally save you. But maybe, they came into your life for something wonderfully human and brief and fragile: to introduce you to an author who writes into your soul or a song that says…
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Sequoias
I think, if I could live as long as they do, Maybe life wouldn’t be so mysterious Or maybe I would simply accept the mystery And not question it. Maybe I would be braver With my head in the clouds, If I knew my roots were deep as heartbeats. Maybe I would find myself beautiful With my russet bark,…
