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

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morning realization

bed-linen-1149842_640

it has been a gift
to lean into you

to split the light
between us,

and place tentative
names to movement

but morning rises
and corrects us

some emptiness-es
are just that –

not sky after all,
not expectation –

realization blooms
from the wrists,

take it with you –
it is my gift

© Sarah Whiteley

found poem

yesterday’s fortune
left the fragment of a poem
lying in the January drizzle
for me to perceive
and carry (treasured) home

some squirrel, winter hungry
no doubt, had dug it up
and nibbled most of the roots
away to nubs – but still,
green pushes through
the almost ruin

it sits now on my sill
in a balance of stone and water
and quiet winter light, while I
and my curiosity await
the unknown bloom

© Sarah Whiteley

While walking in the rain yesterday, I did stumble across a little bulb on the sidewalk with most of its roots nibbled off, but some healthy green just beginning to show. I decided to take it home with me and see if I could get it to bloom. It struck me almost immediately how much finding this little bit of life was like writing a poem – stumbling over a fragment that slowly sprouts, never knowing exactly what it will be when it finally decides to bloom. I’m actually very excited now to see what blooms on my window sill in a few weeks – love this little gift from the universe!