Activity here has died down a bit on my part due to all of my attention being diverted to BlueSky, the new Twitter/X alternative. It really is as nice as they say (at least for now) and I’m able to market my work with a wider reach. I’ve posted a few poems there that I haven’t here–if you’re on BlueSky and curious, just search “Saralyn Caine” to find my profile.

Now that excuses are out of the way–I have a new book coming out in TWO DAYS! *cue applause* Yes, in just two days, on January 20, 2025, my poetry collection SWEET CHILDFREE will be making its debut. I’ve collected my favorite pieces from Nulligravida and written over 100 new poems for this book. It’s officially my longest book so far in terms of poem content (Nulligravida is longer, but had a lot of pictures and “white space” to, I’m embarrassed to admit, artificially pad the length).

I’m really excited about this one, especially the sections “Satisfied with My Choice” and “Safe and Protected.” Every collection I’ve published has been personal in some aspect, but here I get real about how I feel about my body and my freedom to live life exactly as I want to. It is not a coincidence that I’m publishing this book on the day our former president is inaugurated for the second time, alongside the last man I ever thought would be in the position of vice presidency. I wrote a poem directed AT VANCE in Nulligravida. Not sure how many of you knew that. It was very rant-y and did not make it into Sweet Childfree, but it was a response to his childless cat ladies diatribe a few years ago that at this point everyone has heard about. When I wrote that poem it was not widespread at all. I’ll include it here for fun. Fair warning, it is not my best work. But…the fact that some random chauvinist senator from hickville said something nasty, and I responded to it (the only direct reference I made to politics at the time), only for him to end up in the hotseat for possible PRESIDENT if something happens to Orange….

I may be sterilized, but I am scared, y’all. [continued below]

Dear Conservative Politician

I don’t need children, or God
to be accountable for my actions.
I hold myself accountable
by the way others are affected
by my existence. 
I don’t need to create life to respect life.
I don’t need to believe I am created
to love what others call Creation.
I am a role model for myself
and those I help every day
in the real world,
not just my microcosmic tribe
inside these four meager walls.

You may think that 
I’m a miserable cat lady,
Mr. Vance from Ohio
(who thinks I don’t deserve an equal say,
who think I don’t have a stake 
in this country’s future
what with caring more
for the proliferation of birds
than my own tainted race),
but I must tell you,

I am only miserable
when jerks like you
spread misinformation and lies
about my spiritual sisters and I,
because truthfully,
you’re the one that’s unhappy
and feeling trapped,
because your God forbids you
from pursuing the carefree life
I have found. 

The second poem in the book, No Longer Artemis, is my most recent “skeet” (what they call tweets) on BlueSky, and one of my favorites with its mix of imagery, mood, and accessibility.

No Longer Artemis

I grew breasts and society 
took my arrows away, 
saying nipples poke too far forward
to properly hold a bow and
areolas eclipse the moon that used to guide me,
hide me in sapphire shade.
No longer 
the shape of a boy so
no longer
permitted to play-act as one.
Mammary glands in the female of the species
mean I’m meant 
to breed and feed,
no longer 
no longer 
no longer
frolic through trees and the sun
warm on my hair
goes cold 
in relentless spotlights.

Another poem I love is Far Side, a poem comparing the dark side of the moon we cannot see from Earth with the face of a childfree woman–inscrutable, unknown, confusing, almost imaginary, but infinitely more real and experienced than the “hair” people always see and assume the nature of. This idea came hand-in-hand with a tattoo idea I had to commemorate the anniversary of my sterilization–I will post pics once I get it done in a couple of weeks.

Far Side 
 
She is a pristine mystery, 
terrain untrodden by primate toes: 
land, once-oceanic in magma roiling, cooled 
out of sight to form enigmatic vistas 
filled with sparkling minerals. 
 
Her turned cheek has been touched 
by amorphous stardust alone, 
particles blown by a solar breath. 
 
Choice gravity pulls in asteroids. She withstands 
abuse to protect the evolving ones 
asleep on that larimar marble 
behind her back. They have never seen her skin, 
only ever gazed upon her lava locks 
 
and named them Maria: seas of dead tongues, 
wonder still perched on the tips 
as a final thought frozen in time. 
 
Her chin became bloodied, pockmarked 
with scars of celestial insults. 
Yet she chuckles that her truth stands 
regardless of others’ knowing 
as she keeps eluding researchers 
who can’t grab her data. 
 
Her existence tells a different story 
and her asymmetry confounds. 
Her side of the light 
will never illuminate their irises, 
but she remains the same 
being belonging to her braids. 
Still Luna. 

More Luna 
as her pupils adore the galaxy 
without the pollution of diluting gossip, 
those descendants of descendants 
cascading word-of-mouth myths. 
Such rumors always devolve into tales 
of evil at worst. 
 
The breathing ones recognize 
the unusual combination of 
potassium, phosphorus, and thorium 
in the flow of her hair. It suggests Mater 
rather than Man, but without the sun 
showcasing her face, what is she 
but irrelevant at best? 
 
Importance to men does not occur to her 
even as a fleeting thought. 
The far side, imperceptible, is free to roll her eyes 
wherever she wishes. No matter what theories 
they invent, she is before, outer, away, unending. 
Still Luna. 
More Luna. 

If these latter two poems intrigue you in the slightest, please consider buying my book! Pre-orders for the Kindle version are available now, and the paperback will be available on release day. Remember that’s January 20th, in TWO DAYS. If you’re just as horrified, disgusted, and scared as I am at the prospect of four more years of the insanity, let’s commiserate and rebel quietly together in the pages of my book, Sweet Childfree.