now

I love this now,
and this one,
and the now I carried
with me then,
when stumbling
upon that field
rampant with sunflowers
so bent upon echoing
the brilliancy of day,
they pressed themselves
flush against the belly
of the yellowing sky

and like photographs
of loved ones,
I tuck my nows
between book pages,
so that some days
when I do not like
a particular now,
an old one might come
tumbling out and ask
to sit and reminisce

© Sarah Whiteley

Just a quick thank you for all the support and positive energy around the release of my chapbook, No Direction But Home. I’ve set up a dedicated page (see Available Books above) which provides both a link to Amazon as well as a link to the Paypal option should you wish to have a signed copy.

finite

when I say that you are finite
I mean it in the sense
that you will never happen again
and yet never is in itself
a sort of forever
it has marked you as being special
set apart for remembering
which holds a kind of reverence
repeating would not bear

© Sarah Whiteley

remembering in October

mine is not a life without sky
but like a pebble pocketed
and half forgotten
my fingers will brush
the cool smoothness of you
and be startled into sadness
for the space of a long heartbeat
or a breath lightly held
before moving on beneath
the sighing lull of yellowing trees
mine is not a life without sky
though there are times
I can feel the edges of it
following along beside
wearing your scent,
carrying your sound,
and casting our words
to the leaves at my feet

© Sarah Whiteley

the weight of space

while the strains
may recede
the sound trembles
still
a moment’s breath
upon the skin
notes played
to empty places
a chorus
to barren chairs

where
shall I stand
without gravity
no strings
to cling to
to pluck
the resonance
of forgotten
parts

this gravity
of once
this heft
of no longer
we may hold
as ballast
we let go
of stones
yet feel still
the weight
of the space
left
the breadth
of their
absence

© Sarah Whiteley