i thought i was
a weedlot rose
sun warmed,
sweet and thorny
a conceit….
thriving in the dirt

so wrong so wrong
was i

my garden is a quarry
and i,
pebbles heaped on

time frozen solid
in marbled veins

today i see
and think
stop thinking
feel along the crevasses
feel the varicosed ridges
feel something

i see me;
a statue
in a nightmare
i have no mouth
diamonds rain from
blind eyes

i see myself frozen
how best to shatter
this nightmare

but i can’t think
of the answer

i am afraid
of breaking
and of the pain
of feeling
too much

1SageFemme 2020

En Pointe

i asked “do you love me?”
you sighed
“that’s beside the point”
which i guess is true
’cause i’ve been mincing about
tippy-toed and frankly
my feet hurt
i am weary
and my ballet moves
have always sucked
didn’t i tell you?
they kicked me out in second grade
i was an ostrich
among fairies

and why ask to be loved anyway
really, i should’ve asked
if you like my

1SageFemme all rights reserved 2019

don’t call here drunk

oh i oh i
could bite my tongue clean through;
my fingers
tap out heartbeats
picking routes through
that will never
awaken her
building syllabic walls
between us,
surrounding the children
without protecting them

i send my message into space-time
wishing for a do-over,
just erase that one day,
that mother-fucking moment
meeting her,
blue eyes blazing
i, naive,
not recognizing the gaze of a predator

this dance is worse
than Stairway to Heaven
at the seventh grade prom
the smelly boy holding
on too tightly
and it never seems
to end

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love 2.0

if i had known you then,
i’d have wrapped you
in steely arms
more love than trap,
but inescapable nonetheless,
and begged you to
be happy

so hey,
aren’t you glad
you met the
worn-in shoe
version of me?
my love won’t
pinch your toes
i don’t need extra care
to keep me shiny;
i am blister-free,
update completed
long ago

1sagefemme 2019


Here the field
patched green and brown
rushes down
like sheets in the sun
spiky grasses whispering to
a frozen hare,
ears sensing undercurrents
run run run
danger in fields
of scratchy, murmuring

prey scanning for background
noise, peripheral
warning scents
musk in the breeze
heart racing flight
to the bolt hole
smelling of safety,
subterranean funk
and the after-rain
of life

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wa whoosh wa whoosh wa whoosh…
the heart is full of holes,
paradoxically less than when brand new
fossa forming over bleeding os
losing virginity in reverse
closing up shop
nudging parasitic heart,
“you don’t need me anymore,
little heart,
use your lungs now,”

natal heart reaches
arterial highway
survives in vein
to beat and break
crazy little
two-toned organ
lub dubbing its
percussive journey

that first breath
is a doozy
think of it as a cliff dive,
into here
and now

and welcome
we are all as fresh
and lost
as you

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silence outside
yet the screeching
gears of mind
awake awake awake
becomes a plague
shush shush shushing
rusty cogs
how do i oil
screaming memories
nail down squeaks and groans
when there aren’t
or even solid ground
i should have found
by now
the resting place
instead returning
to industrious thought
solve it solve it
dis-solve re-solve
until nothing is
a solution

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017

poet, awakening

cursed consciousness
tracing origins to ooze
amphibious ancestors lugging
scales from swamp
they didn’t laugh
but perhaps they cried
just a little
at becoming
circumscribed from
universal detritus
unlimited variation
gnawing, digesting, creeping
in alien bodies
through meaningless
until all at once
sit up in bed
grey matter zinging
why why why
worries nobody can solve
that don’t matter
in the vastness of space
or do i mean time?
as sleep flees
i think i feel
long forgotten
the matter of me
meaningless body
staring into darkness
where my elementary
were born
and why
there is a soundtrack
playing in my head

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the quiet moments

IMG_7990in the lull between waves
exists a quiet
retraction, indwelling,
sucking-in of breath
hush now
can you hear?
house noise, muted
plates clatter
dishwasher overloaded
somewhere my feet
no, that’s kitty
now is observation time
mixing metaphors
children come
and go in waves,
on Wednesdays
week of chatter
laughter, navigating
week of loss
not loss,
just a certain missing
there are signs,
like clam holes in sand
hand-prints in the hallway
small shoes line the wall
they forgot their raincoats
and the horse picture
is crooked

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