ordinary elsewhere

that Thursday morning,
while ordinary elsewhere,
emerged here with such joy –
so bright and thick,
one could lean upon it

an homage to light,
the bending heads of yarrow
and the exuberant flash
of fireweed rose late
above the grasses with
grace beyond speaking

it is just as well I left
my voice at home

© Sarah Whiteley

November hike

I wake before the wrens
so that I can hike
alone up the rise
and watch the gold
of new light arrive

and each time
there is a pleasure
in its crunching
beneath my feet like
bright, brittle ice

© Sarah Whiteley

procrastination

sometimes the light is perfect
in the way it drapes itself
across the day – as it is now,
this morning in late October

and you find that you must pause
in getting up to go in
to a waiting chorus of chores
though the front step is cold
and has grown harder than remembered

you try to delay the mundane –
the rinsing out of the favorite mug,
the sweeping up of the dust
that returns so doggedly to old corners,

and you wait for the light to shift
into something more ordinary,
more suitable for the junk drawer
calling out for a straightening –
to be set somehow aright

© Sarah Whiteley

let light come slowly

light is sparse this morning
so let it come slowly,

a sifting upwards
of gold, diffuse
through wind-bent trees

let morning be hesitant –
with time, nothing
will be left out in darkness

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Pre-orders through March 22nd will have an opportunity to win a canvas print of the cover art. Click for details!

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

extra cinnamon

startled stranger,
you may be wondering
how it is that quite suddenly
what very much appears to be
nothing other than a slightly misshapen
pumpkin (yes, take a gentle whiff) pancake
has turned up, or rather fallen, onto the stiff
blue wool shoulder of your winter coat

it’s just that
the crows were hungry
and your raucously loud
barreling-around-the-corner
cell phone conversation disturbed
Charlie (the one scolding you) Crow,
causing her to drop her treasured breakfast
onto the unfortunate shoulder of your winter coat

I added extra cinnamon

© Sarah Whiteley