SARAH BORROR POETRY

Author: sarah

  • on faith (Re: Kierkegaard)*

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    by

    sarah
    in , ,

    the weight like layers under a 잠바 in the backseat during a blizzard where limbs stick to each other.

  • waves

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    by

    sarah
    in , ,

    whether the wood grain could attach itself like ocean waves without a shore or reference is not of question.

  • in the kitchen I hear

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    by

    sarah
    in

    a low whir existing in the gaps betweenour limbs and tax brackets our hair follicles and automobilespulsing as we blink. at night we decide to stretch outat the Strip to find last minute Christmasgifts. a light rain hums and drips on thecracked glass of our black stock sedan. the lotscreep and crack with SUVs and…

  • soon it will be fall, and the soil will freeze (we are running out of time)

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    by

    sarah
    in

    some licked mornings, in direct sunlight through crosshairspast the stairsof barnstoneI’d uproot the entire earth for you,one clodof soilper inchlost fromgrief, wecan dig tothe center, find our lostgaloshes the streamer’sglisten inour eyes’wake justwatch whilethe sod levelsas we kiss

  • IV

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    by

    sarah
    in

    in a winter biomewe could thrive, taking vitamin D supplementsand rolling down  hills in the snow, the sun a  deadly myth, thefireplace our own star

  • harbor

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    by

    sarah
    in ,

    harbor a little rattle in the scaled lockedabsentlight, or plentiful–so much in solittle time, scamperits cloak, leaveits precipice keep it likea nightcapfor yournext lost shipcreeping towardsshores in anendless dark

  • pulse

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    by

    sarah
    in ,

    dull patter, a cruxbacklight, raisin-likebuds on a bloomingtree, its fruits alreadycoming into their own,rosemary peakingfrom its spentstalks like sweet dew,paint off of the porch,slats coming loose, afew I picked likesticks in the yard tostow away, in thegarage, the mandoor ajar, everymorning I openand view animpossible vistathe space betweenlike toe gaps, armspans, the pulsea chatter ofshapes…

  • cusp

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    by

    sarah
    in

    if it pulls youthe way it pulls mecan we ripthe cuspto find itspit, yank it out justto kiss it?

  • spring manual

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    by

    sarah
    in ,

    boorish and clunky, abarred railing, a flush of hydrangeaspring green flower starterspeeking from a grave, returnthe sun to myth the bird’s songa manual for moving on

  • bereaved

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    by

    sarah
    in

    can you tastethe differencein the air? seehow the sun wakes likea crusadebut sleeps likethe bereaved& againthe skysweeps upthe lightbehind it the rainalwayssingingas it spills