I cast my faith on daffodils…

I cast my faith on daffodils –
on the steadfastness of green
and promises of gold

I can believe in the movements
of worms, shaking up earth
beyond visible proof

I accept the testimony of buds
before their exhalations –
modest currency of Spring

I can discern a mystery in dirt
and a truth rests in my spine –
that some bright morning
the burgeoning will arrive

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

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if I could freshen the day…

if I could freshen the day
like flowers kept
in the ironstone pitcher –

trim away the wilt,
snip the calloused ends,
gather up the fallen curls
of color from the floor

if I could invite the breeze
to brighten the gray
garland of winter hours –

I might better stand the sting
of lingering February
and find the light
amidst the hardened snow

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

heartwood

our days of heavy snow
have shattered the plum trees –
snapped their branches until
they stand now in the night
silent as broken men

the rain now exposes them,
these splits in branch
and dangling bough –
only Spring will ascertain
whether the heartwood sustains

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

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

have you seen how hope…

have you seen how hope
gathers at the edge of pain?

how like first light, it graces
the thin lip of the ridge
before sweeping wholesale
down the slope?

how sometimes it is slow
to gather, and even slower
to rise up over the noise
of our daily just-eking-by?

love, too, is like this –
it should spill over like time
that can’t be bound by hours,
it should shake your petals

© Sarah Whiteley