they’ve set traps for the rats…

they’ve set traps for the rats –
one would think who cares?
except that I’ve seen the mother
coax her young in clambering
up the long patience of her tail
to reach the seed in the feeder
long after the evening’s last birds
have flown to their repose

down the street, they’ve shot the coyote,
and are calling it mercy
one might say so what?
except that she tracked the rats
and carried them back with her
into the deep green bulwark
at the densest edge of the park
where her soft-nosed pups wait

they’ve placed a sign around the corner
and one might think it benign –
until the hard hats descend
with their chainsaws and chippers,
to fell and to sunder the cedar
whose rings will mark an age
that far surpasses this city
and glibly name it progress

© Sarah Whiteley

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3.4.2015

Document1

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 I’ve reached a point where I find I need to “lie low to the wall” for a while, as O’Donohue suggests in his poem. So I’m stepping away from new posts and writing in general for a while. I really couldn’t say for how long – at least until a few things have shifted a bit and the load is a little bit lighter.

I’ll still be reading and commenting on posts now and again. But ebbtide itself will be quiet for the time being.

Be wonderful and be well!

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