on days when I cannot be here - in the sense that my vigor for living rebels - I can instead be tucked among the clutches of brush on the high plateau can instead snaps bits of silvery desert sage, crush it, inhaling - we are both of us escaped and wilder here © Sarah … Continue reading escape


thinking of those days behind the wheel, cat stretched across the dash, exemption stretched out along straight, gray highways trying now not to swallow that hook, though lately it seems the city hates me, shoves me toward her swilled-to-the-gill gutters back then, there was the bag kept in the back and it didn't matter that … Continue reading *

losing my keys

keys lie nestled in my right pocket where they can remind fingers that there are roots to be had connections that cannot so easily be pulled, no matter the direction taken by forgetting feet which ride out strange asphalts, and long grasses, stretches of sky so wide we all lie swallowed by it shadows in … Continue reading losing my keys


you are mistaken, dear friend - it is not loneliness to be in such a space, where solitude might be relievedly embraced it is not lost when the venturing writes a trail to rediscovered peace © Sarah Whiteley

down east

it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of the state line, but I kept right on - forward … Continue reading down east


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, … Continue reading now