My ten year high school reunion would have been this year. But as you know, the sickness began. The riots started. And we hid ourselves away.

I decided since I had to hide my body (something I don’t mind too much, being an introvert), it was time to reveal my mind. I’ve been writing poetry as long as I’ve been out of high school, but I never had any intent to publish. I was what you call a “navel-gazer.” I loved writing and loved what I wrote, but I never planned to share it with anyone. However, my library has grown. I have a two-inch binder full to bursting with paranoid-my-hard-drive-will-magically-erase-itself-and-I-still-don’t-trust-the-cloud print-outs. And when I die, I don’t want my work to die with me.

After a couple years of rejection from editors who only seem interested in social commentary themes, I decided to self-publish my first collection on Amazon earlier this year. I was so happy to have a book in my hands! A bound paperback of my words! Now I could shred part of the bulk of that heavy binder! Then I realized — if I’m going to sell, I need to sell. Myself, that is.

So hello, WordPress! Among a few other social media sites, this one came recommended for authors. I’m terrible at routinely updating, though, so we’ll see how this goes.

What’s a poet post without a poem? I wrote this in college about a peer whose writing I admired. Please enjoy, and welcome to my clearing in the forest.

With Ink-Stained Hands

By a street corner lurks the life-haunter,
Pen in hand, ready to pounce.
No one notes his calm saunter
Or the rules he plans to flounce.

Quietly he jots a word,
Taps his pen, scratches it out.
No aspect does he need to gird —
Only naked truth to spout.

(c) 2020 Saralyn Caine. All Rights Reserved.