misinterpretation

I perched there - my hands, my words, undelivered, on the edge of the porch - I could not be otherwise, though you were a hand's-breadth, (a breath's-breadth) away why leap only to be denuded, disabused of what I'd only hoped your hands had meant? perhaps I've spread the interpretation of your touch ridiculously thin, … Continue reading misinterpretation

rise up alight

these troubling days (exhaustive) have made it difficult to flare up - to keep on rising up raging somewhere closer than you'd think, someone's mother huddles down into a smooth pew, clutches sanctuary (final hope's most sacred flower) against the black-boots coming for her coming for her, for her I cannot be afraid of the … Continue reading rise up alight

paint

I can't scrape away the last of my paint just can't though I've been peeling myself away from these walls seven years now new walls, yes, can wear my color it's yours I'll miss © Sarah Whiteley

storm at Rachel Lake

every branch was made big with wind while we sat diminished hunkered down with steaming cups, muddied boots, cold-red cheeks, together beneath that orange tarp cracking with every gust we stayed, shivered, laughing while others fled the storm - a splendid day, my splendid friend © Sarah Whiteley

for Shi Shi

out here the rain and your book are my only companions, and the only thing that matters is the campfire and keeping the sparks (bright, living) from too-close legs where fabricated light cannot reach solitude is no longer secondary, but breathes with my breath, and pauses in the dark - intending everything, but only later … Continue reading for Shi Shi

the winter roost

the crows come again, perch within the remnants of summer - turned to rust and rue; they've come again with their own narrative, their inscrutable truths - strike their own lines against November's sky, while we try blindly (futile) to navigate stolen darknesses; fixed, and non-migratory - roosting in huddled groups for the long and … Continue reading the winter roost

the waiting

the waiting creeps up from feet, passes hips, submerges wrists in slippery uncertainty naturally, the ear strains to catch the subtle shift of air that marks departure no one ever sings through the smoke of staying - love and smoke both only ever go sometimes you get so caught up in the leaving, all kisses … Continue reading the waiting