the heat’s gone out

for the sixth time since November,
the heat’s gone out – the radiator sits silent

there is no weight of heavy snows here
to bear down upon roofs or wool-shod shoulders,

yet the dark leans in against the windows,
its own weight overwhelming the small hours

for once, Time in its grand arc is on our side –
as are the dogs exuding contentment,

as is the glass of whiskey on the pale marble
table by the deep-seated chair

either the radiator will rattle tomorrow,
or it will remain cool in dormancy –

but in the morning, I will seek the green tips
of emerging hyacinth – gift and promise both

© Sarah Whiteley

Monday morning, 6 AM

the geese came early
this morning, and loudly

already it was too gray a day
for the sun to make an appearance

the dogs, fractious still from being
pulled out into the dark and rain

growled up at the windows long after
the clattery troupe had passed

and moments later the rain
let loose and I with my umbrella

crept out the back door
into another day

© Sarah Whiteley

the morning commute

this morning the rain had let up
just long enough during the night
that I was able to make my way down the walk
without worrying how deep the next puddle
too wide to leap would be
half a block ahead of me walked a man
whose dark jacket folded him into the gloom
but I could smell the heavenly clove
of his cigarette and inhaling deeply
thought it’s a damn good thing I keep mine
in the drawer at home safe from fingers
itching to light just one, which would turn
into possibly three, a missed bus and a wrong
perhaps deliberate turn down the wrong street
for a long pause in a certain small cafe
where the purple walls would hide me
from the workaday and I could settle to the task
of drinking a few too many cups of coffee
and everyone else can turn the world without me
but the man headed left down the alley
and my cloves were tucked in the drawer
six blocks back and there I was
with a for once on-time bus thinking
I may as well get on

© Sarah Whiteley

Things will be on the quiet side here for a while. Not a hiatus, really, but just working on a very exciting project. I’ll be keeping up with reading new posts, but the writing might be a bit on the thin side over here. But trust me – it’ll be worth it.



the leaves have dropped
burnt out finally after
the last conflagration
and the fog drifts in
most mornings now
a shroud for ashen skies
hangs about sometimes
until noon even
days like this call
for extra cups of coffee
with an extra spoon of sugar –
something hot and sweet
to cup chilled hands about
a talisman against graying days
and the sooner dark
thoughts of you
were once my August
in the icy weeks to come
now I have the warmly
snoring bodies of dogs
and extra doses
of coffee the color
of 5 AM in December

© Sarah Whiteley