I have been pondering…

I have been pondering
the madness of love
with the thought of you
like a fat spider
perched in its web
plucking at threads
I feel the reverberations
here with a strange pang
like rising too high
too quickly above the treeline
there’s madness there
in the small bits remembered
don’t believe me? look around –
I know just where it is
you see me
in the lone moments
where you wait unwilling
to stir further
the dust that stirs itself
in that chair, just there,
with the light behind me
and the dog in my lap
it’s where I realized
it’s the biggest mistakes
sometimes that set us free
you see? madness
and madness more so
that I yet love you
with the same surety
that I know you feel
me plucking
at the silk of you

© Sarah Whiteley

I am still having vivid dreams… and am at the same time battling the mother of all head colds. It is not pleasant – and it is not easy at the moment to string together cohesive thoughts. I’m at that stage where everything tastes like cough drops and my head is stuffed full of ether-soaked cotton balls. But I woke up this morning with this still ringing in my head and felt the need to get it out. If it makes any sense at all, hooray,… if not, blame the Nyquil.

writing

I understand the madness of Plath
the Woolfe beating at the door beyond the river
stones with my name invisibly chiselled
whining invitations of oven door hinges
these wildly wavering circles of writing
not writing is not being, not breathing
I do not wake to the world
until ink descries the page
there I create an ache of truth
too real to breathe outside the confines of the pen
ink stains on fingertips mark the trail
of the words that escaped
as I pile them one atop the next
a meager defense against the rising of the river
so hard not to tumble into torrents
let alone wade in open-armed
with birds in my ears, lost time tangled in my hair,
and the stones of forever tucked into worn woolen pockets
fill my lungs against the battle of ovens
and the Woolfe-ish mouths of rivers
while I write I breathe, I breathe

© Sarah Whiteley