right there

damn, you unbuckle me
when you touch
that way
soft fingers searching
tracing invisible constellations
connecting stars
i see them
as time
made inconsequential by celestial
only your hands
your mouth
your eyes
my skin feels you whisper
wordless incantations
raw staccato
your hands no longer soft
press and knead,
deep into my dark core
you explore
find that spot,
right there, yes
you unleash me
how you free me
did i exist
before this?
your tongue knows
my rain dance
never tire
drive hard
into my longing
you vibrate
you glow,
i swear there’s a halo
before i explode,
into you…

1Sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2016


She approached the periphery
Circling life slowly,
Ebbing into oceans
Vast and misunderstood
Her mind wandering into dark
Wet places
Beckoning her dissolving self
Back to shore
She fought the tide
In useless protest
Kneeling in shallows,
Fists pounding salty sand
Grabbing handfuls of hair
Moaning guttural protest
More seagull than human
Falling into tide pools
Arms outstretched,
Warm ocean
Becoming her own blood
She became
Rising with the sun
Gathering pebbles and syllables
To roll around her tongue
As she stalked the shoreline
For one more
Glorious, golden

1sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2016

Queer flirtation

aged 25:
I was in a bar restroom, and when I exited the stall a (very) masculine woman was facing me, casually leaning on the counter looking intense and completely sober. Taken aback, I chose the most logical course of action; I went to wash my hands, just as though there wasn’t a sexy-as-hell dyke planted between the sinks. There was a roll of that cheap industrial paper towel on the counter, and, face burning, I reached for it as she turned ever so slightly and knocked it to the floor. After a nanosecond too-long pause, I bent down to pick it up, but somehow she beat me there, and handed the roll to me as I stood back up, staring into my eyes the whole time. I don’t actually know how she did it, because my mind went completely blank. My legs turned to jello, which up until that exact moment I had thought was just a figure of speech. Without saying a word, she gave me the slightest self-satisfied smile, turned on her heal, and strode away. Bathroom Butch, wherever you may be, I thank you!

1Sagefemme   all rights reserved 2016



Oh, Life

Oh, Life
Let me taste your sweet sensuality
Suck a honey drop
From your sweating brow
Surrender mortality

Let me engulf you
Beginning to end
Let me love you and leave you
And come once again

Oh, Death
How you haunt me
All these long years
Reminding me daily
To let go my fears

For you wait in the shadows
As this body grows old
With adventures unfinished
And stories untold

So I wake each new day
With this vow on my tongue
I will live well today
For I’ve only begun.

1sagefemme All Rights reserved 2016

Part 3: Escape

waving goodbye and meaning it,
sorry sorry little brother
i am recently a child too
unaware that you and i are separate,
separated now
by the Salish sea
i go west like a pilgrim
to another place,

this one for moneyed chidren
of politicians, doctors and crooks,
if there is a distinction;
loud unruly daughters,
beligerant sons;
entitled, beastly,
privileged little racists,
future scientists, musicians, V-jays
and rapists,
did you ever notice how easy it is
to make one into the other?
the other

i found a home in this place,
learned, because i was told,
that one should look into
the other’s
that we do not speak to
potted plants
that humans hug,

how to explain now
how much i loved
that white-walled room
smelling of lavender and sweat;
the house mother, so kind
like a real mother might be
but not my real mother,

the common-room still lives
as tender memory
girls and boys piled higgledy-piggledy
the young and restless,
playing on that old tube tv
bare arms touching
glances passing between future lovers

i learned to dive
in the cold ocean
deep into wrecked places
the only girl
and therefore,
always proving my worth

my skinny boyfriend
loved skateboarding
and cigarettes,
was gentle and rough-dressed
and never used the phrase
meaning the convenience store,
like all the rest did

he was a loner, and so cool,
judd nelson to my molly ringwald
maybe he was a racist,
but he didn’t talk much
so i don’t know
he graduated
became a deep sea welder

i learned calculus,
and puked peach schnapps
neither of which
matters now
i learned the difference
between c and p
which still matters
like a car wreck in the rear view mirror
like a bullet hole
behind the bed

i thought i was free
but it was just
monster school.

1Sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2016

Rose Coloured Glasses

What do you see in this floral frock;
A faded rose; a weathered rock?
Are you scanning my veiny, reddened face,
My random grays and expanding waist?

Or do you see my wizened soul,
My passion and joy and mind so bold
As to glamour you with my pendulum hips
And tender caresses and witty quips.

Through these eyes of greenish haze,
I will fix you with an admiring gaze,
And see not your lumps and bumps and rolls,
But linger on your awesome whole –

The bounce in your step, your handsome face,
Your sideways grin, your excellent taste,
The way your fingers graze my neck,
Leading your lips, oh, what the heck!

My flesh will hum a sensual song,
Of longing and passion; you can do no wrong.
I am not an ingénue,
And my sinuous body will sing for you.

What do you see in this floral dress;
A sexy grin and bouncy ass?
Are you scanning my lovely, porcelain face,
My pixie hair and supple waist?

Oh, see me, my lover, through lover’s eyes
Though they may feed you little lies,
And I will see you in your purest glory,
And feed upon your whole life story.

You will taste the ocean in my kiss,
For I am all now; you can’t resist.
I will take you into my molten core,
And give you the gift of love once more.

And you and I will defy Time’s law,
And be hard and soft and sweet and raw.
And give and take and share our souls,
And know that each of us is whole.

1sagefemme  all rights reserved 2014


Here I am, over forty, feeling wicked strong,
I’ve found the place where I belong,
And it turns out I had it all along:
This skin, this bone, this heart, this soul;
This wonderful mind that swallows me whole.

When I was ten, I felt afraid,
Of mothers and monsters and choices they made.
So I became bookish and insecure,
I was too big and too small and so unsure,
How do other girls endure?

When I was twelve I started to fight,
I had hormones and I knew that I was right;
That the world was all fucked up and I was stuck in it,
And I’d hate you and hate them all every minute,
Of every damn day, without end, without limit.

When I was nineteen I knew I was queer,
‘Cause my body would vibrate when cute dykes were near,
And the hormones, they had me all tied up in knots,
Of “does she love me, or does she not?”
And “who really cares as long as she’s hot?”

I fell in love once, twice, and then thrice,
And the final love stuck and, meh, it was nice.
We made love, we found jobs; we acted all grown-up,
We fostered some teens, got two cats and a pup,
And a car, and a house, and all of that . . . stuff.

And then I was thirty and starting to wonder,
If I could finally be a mother,
And BANG two kids appeared out of the clouds,
And they were boys, and they were LOUD,
And oh, how I love them; I’m a mom and proud!

But those years were not about me,
I gave up my “I” and instead became “we.”
I didn’t plan to be misplaced,
The time, it just rubbed me ‘til I was defaced,
And I felt myself slowly being erased.

But the final thing to go was my pen,
And I clutched it tightly even then,
And I doodled and drew, and scribbled and scratched,
And fashioned a skeleton with wings attached,
And re-drew my feet that never matched.

Then I rubbed it all over with sparkles and glue,
And the kids helped me make her a sky so blue.
I smiled when she looked up at me,
And through my own hazel eyes I could see,
What a beautiful, awesome, ME I could be.

I’m forty-four now and here’s who I am;
Got two kids, an ex-wife, and I don’t give a damn,
If you don’t like my ass or my wings or my tan,
‘Cause I’m white as they come but I’m not made of bread
And that’s not a halo over my head.

If I want you, I’ll tell you; I’m not wasting time,
And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s just fine.
There are plenty of other sweet bois I can find,
Who will want to be held by my thighs and my mind,
And I’ll give them gift of my gaze and my time.

I am awake now, and unafraid.
This mid-life body is being remade.
My blood, my blood is full of fire,
And it might be a hot flash, but it feels like desire;
Like I just turned my thermostat higher.

I speak the words that must be spoken,
I may be bent, but I’m not broken,
Watch me now, my magic’s awoken!
Rise up with me, find your glory,
And sing it or shout it; your own awesome story.

I see you there, smiling, hesitant girl,
And I want you to follow me into my world.
We can be queens of this whole fucking place,
We can light it on fire; there’s no time to waste,
We’ve got a whole new universe to create.

Where crow’s feet and laugh lines mark us as strong,
Survivors of childhood and all the things wrong
With this world that tells us that we don’t belong.
I’m here to tell you, out of love and not duty,
Not to let anyone deny your beauty.

I see you there sauntering girl-who’s-a-boi,
And maybe your breasts don’t bring any joy,
You want bigger muscles, more strong definition,
But just as you are, without inhibition,
It’s your eyes that entice me from top to submission.

I see us all; young, middle-aged, old,
Wearing masks made of fear because we’ve been sold
A load of shit packaged as sound advice,
And I’m here to put the boot to the lies.
All of us are butterflies.

1sagefemme   All Rights Reserved 2016

“Butch” a poem


I am a queer woman,
sexuality leaning hard left of center,
heart fluttering for a dying breed of boi-girls and athletes,
Girls rocking masculinity like music
A furious mash-up of rock and lullaby, muscle and emotion
They may or may not identify as “Butch,”
Purr in a girl’s ear,
Call me Zane, Jordan, Charlie, Mitch;
Walk in comfortable shoes polished to a glassy shine
Or mud-caked work boots and a wind-whipped work-man tan.
They have a thing about
Penises and
A relationship fraught with conflict and desire,
They love tits,
but not on themselves,
The shirts just don’t
They may have a penis in their
mind’s eye,
And sometimes in draw-string bags, in boxes, in drawers,
They like to strut,
Sideways smile at flirty girls,
Buy long-stemmed roses and dapper suits,
They are strong, and fragile,
and oh so complicated.
I love them all,
Want to be Femme for them
(A short-haired,
Small-breasted version
all my own)
Wear matching bras and panties,
Perfume and lipstick,
Catch their smiles in mason jars and line them up
On my window-sill
To remind me that this species
Still exists.
I want to wrap my arms around all of them,
Tell them how lovely they are,
Thank them for saving me from despair
For without them,
My desire would never find a mark.
I want to tell them,
Thank you.
Thank you for polishing those shoes,
Tying a double knot,
Doing bedside push-ups at night,
Perfecting that confident swagger,
Learning how to lead,
And being willing to follow.
Thank you for tolerating the bathroom stares,
For not putting on that goddamn bridesmaid’s dress,
For being such a good cook, or driver, or motorcycle rider,
Thank you for holding my purse,
For sitting in the shade with me,
Thank you for working so hard
On that hairstyle,
The top cropped, or spiked, or waved
Just so.
Thank you for not being afraid
To hold my hand,
And look up at me,
And tell me,
How much you like my heels.

1SageFemme © All rights reserved 2015