Tag: growth

3.4.2015

I am learning finally how to be vulnerable, how to ask for help, and how to lean on friends and trust that they’ll stand steady beneath the weight. I’m coming to this lesson rather late in life, but this is a good step forward. But … Continue reading 3.4.2015

Celebrating!

Five years ago today, one tiny little poem marked the beginning of ebbtide. Five years! Am I celebrating? Hell yes!

I am so grateful for the countless ways in which this little space on the internet has helped me – as an emotional outlet, a sounding board, a source of writerly camaraderie, and a place to celebrate beauty. There has been a (much-needed) sort of inner awakening in my life since I began this writing journey, and so many people have touched me through this medium that I can only hope I’ve been able to do a little of the same for others. So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for five wonderful years!

Peace,
Sarah

turned earth

I had determined
(after the last)
to no longer offer up
the root of myself

let it beat
(I thought)
for nothing other than
to mark the time
passing beneath my skin

but then hands
(so mercilessly capable)
dug in and I am as earth
freshly turned and raw

and the root
(remembering yearning)
has caught the rain of you
and strains again
toward sun

© Sarah Whiteley

spring walk, 6 a.m.

this is the moment
when I am unearthed,
when I am at last unbound
by mundane constraints –

now, when the birds
at their riotous best,
launch their relief that yes,
day again brings light

in a canon shared by wrens
and robins and flitting juncos
from trees whose slow buds
are indecently near to bursting

now, when the still low sun
lifts slowly above the hill,
when light is burnished pink
and leaf-filtered

here I am both more and less
myself than at any other moment
and piercingly in love
with every greening tree

© Sarah Whiteley

time once more to bloom

that late August afternoon
after sweating unwieldy boxes
up the three flights alone
I paused for a moment’s rest
and touched the ache of this space
not yet made my own
but thought at least how lucky,
to have the hopeful green
of a locust tree to nod in at me

not an hour later three men came
with their coveralls and chainsaws
to cut back the branches –
the cruelty of regulatory topping –
I tried not to take this
as irony or prophecy
and in spite of our crude pruning,
June arrived awash in petals,
white and brisk with bees
and the inquisitiveness
of hummingbird pairs
and October blew skiffs of yellow
adrift on winds that waved
as they passed the windows
and now this second April
as window neighbors
(we still politely nod)
not a sign of swelling twig,
nor brightness of bud,
but the brown bones
of last year’s unfallen leaves
still cling reluctant
while I watch and wait
for Spring to remind and wake
that inner ache which tells us both
it’s time once more to bloom

© Sarah Whiteley

You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit on the quiet side in the coming weeks. For those of you who don’t know, I work in the accounting field and now is a very busy time for me at work. Which means, unfortunately, that I am often too distracted to keep up with writing and reading. So this may be the last post until I’m on the other side of this deadline. But I’ll be back in a couple weeks to catch up on all the new posts I may have missed.