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About Literature / Hobbyist Member saarthaFemale/United States Recent Activity
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April 11th—WAKE

Sparrow claws
tick against the gutter.

I drift out of sleep
like the light,
pooling against the blinds
then slipping through.


April 12th—ABSURD

A full-body shudder
in the produce aisle, as though
the whole universe jumped
two nanometers left.

Bemused, I pick out
an infinitesimally-altered
avocado.

The salad will be
lovely anyway.


April 13th—LATE

This time with feeling,
says the gravestone
in my dream.

I spend the whole day
a little teary-eyed.


April 14th—OBSERVE

To the right, white flowers
I've never noticed before.

The freeway meanders
the same way for three years, but now
like a moon blooming open
something new appears.

All the world
teeming
just out of view.


April 15th—HEAT

Through the window, the sun
snags on the shell of my ear.

So warm. In middle school,
neglecting vocab
to doze on the spring lawn:
how the light turned
hands, eyelids
translucent,

how it seemed one
could become light,
could scatter and shine.
April 6th—REGRET

He has buried his wife
and only child,
many years past. In the mornings
I fetched coffee and he said, “I should have
died. I want to die.”

What to say? “I'm sorry,” or
“I understand.” Perhaps just,
“Yes.”

Anything but “oh—!”,
the ugly, brainless honk of it,
like a startled goose.


April 7th—ANIMAL

A dog ululates with joy
and a dog brings a ball and
a dog presses her face
against my thigh.

Three dogs, three loves.
Francis had the right idea.


April 8th—MEMORY

Everything on the cusp of rain,
all day long.

From the window, the red smoke tree
the quaking aspens
the heather and rosemary
seem like an old story.

Even as the cat, senile,
yowls for dinner
again, it's only
some soft memory, half-lost
half-unloseable.

I am fogged as old glass.
The cat yowled and yowls, the rain
has always hesitated, forever.
One subdued August evening
eternal, from first atom to last.

The stunning irreality of reality.

I move through the house as a dream
of myself. Silent,
simple. The hillside, the cat,
the rain, myself

moving forward into infinity.


April 9th—PRIORITIES

News comes: they will bore
three holes into me, and
with the exactness of a chef
trim out the unwanted meat.

Possibly they will pluck away
an ovary, like a grape.

But all I can think is, ah,
how annoying.
The paperwork
will pile up
so quickly.


April 10th—FEAR

A common theme
in the dream diary. Hiding
crouched in the tall grass,
like a hunted mouse.

Perhaps I am frozen.
Perhaps I am desperate.
Perhaps the grass grows
sparser with each day.
April 1st— COMMUTE

The river overflows
with fog.  

Morning quickens and we stream
across the bridge,
going who knows where.

Droplets scattering in the sun.


April 2nd – WORK

Up and down the boulevard,
machinery waiting for spring.
It seems they should shake dog-like
the dew from their backs.

A coworker skypes with his young children.
Another listens to the radio. This is not
such a bad life.



April 3rd— EVENING

A quiet apartment. Soft rain,
softer moon. The stove
and counters gleam like gems.  

I read old favorites
(there is poetry in everything. That
is the biggest argument against poetry…)

and go to bed early.



April 4th—WALK

Lovely, in a gaudy way
the 3 miles of tulip fields.
My mother talks about
her tulips at home, which are
really bucket daffodils.

It is endearing beyond words.



April 5th—MRI

Deep now
in the belly of the machine,
a needle in my arm and my ovary
hard as an acorn.

It is forbidden, I assume,
to hum, but the triads
align themselves,
a mechanic symphony

and despite the earplugs,
the chill of gadolinium
in my veins,

I feel that I am a tine
in a music box, that I am
at the heart of a song.
Having decided to live,
I eat salads, cut sweets,
take up walking. A small white dog
yaps fiercely behind his fence. I wonder
how it feels to act so earnestly.

At night my body resounds
with slow tides of blood. Wave after wave,
it says: you are, you are, you are.

I feel old, the way
only the very young do.
I listen to the cricketing
of bone and ligament,
the stiffening nodules of meat.

Last week, my cat died in the laundry room
balled up like a rag. This is the end
for every living thing. I haven't forgotten.
It still clutches my throat.

But it would be fine, filling the years
with some meaningless love.
Yapping day after day, stupidly
whole-hearted, the sense
of a good job well done.

You are, says the body.
You are dying, says the brain.

Yap yap, says the dog,
and goes inside for a treat.
A door opens.


I close it, gently. The dumb animal
of my heart, small rodent,
dithers and squeaks. It is afraid
one way or the other.


Let it be. A door
opens, another. Nothing but white
rooms, empty mazes, corners
to be backed into.


A million open doors, banging incessant,
the heckling gallery. The animal dreams
about shattering, becoming a shard of bone,
a bone knife.


Another white room. Let it be.


I sit at the center, or a center,
the doors fluttering like an eye.
White everywhere. The animal is a snake
or a crow or dead. White.


Nothing to be done. Nothing to bite
or cut. The doors laugh and fall away;
in the unbroken white, my heart
shakes and shakes.
can replace
poetry
in my life
and one day
surely
it will


--Ken Mikolowski, 'Nothing' www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/…

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saartha

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Don't let the bastards grind you down. I repeat this to myself but it conveys nothing. You might as well say, Don't let there be air; or Don't be. I suppose you could say that.

The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood

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Comments


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:icongoldfish-in-space:
Goldfish-In-Space Featured By Owner Jun 13, 2014   Writer
Hey, thanks for the watch!
Reply
:iconlethalprincesa95:
LethalPrincesa95 Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2014  Student Writer
Poetry is the best 
Reply
:iconlethalprincesa95:
LethalPrincesa95 Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2014  Student Writer
I really love ur work I'm in to writing myself it's like a love in my life and I adore ur work 
Reply
:iconsaartha:
saartha Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you, glad you enjoyed.
Reply
:iconi-am-a-bridgewalker:
i-am-a-bridgewalker Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I forget if I've told you this before or not, but oh my god you're an amazing poet.
Reply
:iconsaartha:
saartha Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you, and congratulations on your DD!
Reply
:icondeathlee28:
DeathLee28 Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
nice work :)

yes you're right ellipses don't work like that,  what was I thinking D:

gonna keep practicing until i get them right :)
Reply
:iconrussiantim:
RussianTim Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2013  Professional Writer
fantastic work you have on here. I'm shocked I've never read anything of yours before but happy that I now have. Congrats on your DD and keep writing beautiful poetry.
Reply
:iconsaartha:
saartha Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you kindly :) It's been just about a full year since I've written last, unfortunately. I think in poetic terms now and then, but I haven't had the urge to write any of it down. I was never prolific to begin with. We'll see, someday I'll think something worth saying.
Reply
:iconrussiantim:
RussianTim Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2013  Professional Writer
I'm sorry to hear that. You certainly have talent hidden within you. Have you experimented with any other artists mediums since you put poetry on a hold?
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