Author Archives: Sarah

Impressions of a River

We walked on a sandbar

stepped where a blue heron stepped

the four lines where its foot fell

pressed into crackles by our weight.


We found warm shallows

where life abounded

mollusks the size of our palms

had pulled themselves across the floor

doodling blind, directionless lines

searching for I do not know what


We found a gar

dried to leather

black as driftwood in the moist sunshine

sunken eyes like leather coins

expressionless, shriveling down

to its primeval skull.


We found wet clay 

as deep as our knees

We mired ourselves on purpose

and struggled back out again

Pretending we were dinosaurs

Or maybe the making

of some new fossil


Everything on the riverbank leaves a trace

Every path is printed


That is until

the water rises, falls

and refreshes itself.

Each rainfall rinsing

the palette clean.

Journal – Just keeping up

The coffee is jumping inside of me
or maybe that’s just my own hormones
something is jumping inside of me
it’s leaping and touching the ceiling.

Yesterday it dragged the floor.
It sure is nice to have emotions again
dulce et decorum est
to have emotions again

I wonder who is talking
through my head
through my hands

I speak up at work now
everyone tells me how friendly I am
how welcoming
they appreciate my vocalness
I am well liked by my peers
that’s good
I guess.
I still have little anxieties
I used to have big anxieties
so that’s better.
I’m writing another novel
aren’t we proud?
I ran two miles
it hurt a little
but not much
I got all my shit together.
all. my. shit. together.

the cat desperately tries to crawl on my lap
and I write with one hand
desperately trying to keep him off my keyboard


So why is this knot in my stomach?
Why is my hair falling out?
Why do I spend my days in industry,
To hide from the nights
in darkness?

I’m feeling much better.
I’ve got it all under control.
Don’t worry about me.
I used to be worse, much worse.
It’s nice to have feelings again.
I spent a whole year with no ups or downs
creatively, emotionally, just…
And I asked myself,
Is this happiness?

Now I feel again
I’m getting things done
more than ever
trying to squash the anxiety in my chest, in my belly
running from the depression
breathing through the mania
and I ask myself
Is this happiness??

Don’t worry about me.
I’m fine.
I’ve been here before.
Lower, higher, much worse, much better, too much better.
I’m probably just at normal human levels now.
Is that
What happiness is?

Maybe happiness can only be found
in others.
Writing gives me a feeling of completion
of working towards my life ambitions
being who I should be.
People give me that oxytocin boost
linked in love
I’ve invested myself in people this year
now I know what they mean
now I know what they do for me
and how much I need them.
Is that
What happiness is?

Maybe asking
is asking
for trouble.

We sat on our hill and she taught me a song


We sat on our hill and she taught me a song.

I remember her laugh when I got the words wrong,

I remember the way the grass tickled our feet,

And the flowers I tucked in her hair looked so sweet,

But I ruefully deem the dream as incomplete.

Though deep I have delved and long I have sought,

I cannot recall what she patiently taught.





The Darkest Season


I did something creative! My little wrung-out sponge of a brain managed to ooze a flash piece and three illustrations for my friend Chad Woody’s book, a collection of small horror stories, called The Darkest Season. Expect humor, horror, and Christmas rolled into one festive, grotesque, ungainly animal. It’s great fun.

Merry Christmas!





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