I posted this on my Facebook page when the SCOTUS draft opinion overturning Roe v. Wade was leaked. Now that it's official, so is the poem — on my website. It feels weird to tell you to enjoy the poem, given how I explore the implications of what is coming regarding women's rights, but commiserate…
In my dreams, I lasso Saturn and pull him close, his rings really just part of my weapon, invisible rope tugging him in for a hug, as though solid enough for my arms to squeeze, like those memories I know I could reach out and touch, if only a light projected from my eye onto…
Torches light intersecting lanes: moments of clarity from above illuminating dull bright beams off hoary eyes. For some, this is enough to see the next path their feet must follow, despite striking toes on stones in puddles of midnight. But others seek the hermit for hire with his swinging lantern, portable lighthouse ever-shining for ships…
What you see is what you seek. What you seek is what you're sold. Do as you're told or don't think at all, so they scold. But how can you find balance if you don't know? But what can you know without being told? Sea or Tea, erase the question altogether...it's up to you. In…
A poem preview from my upcoming book Nulligravida, out October 31st! If you're childfree or a fence-sitter, you don't want to miss this. CW: This particular poem is a metaphor for either using emergency contraception or obtaining a pre-viability abortion. Photo by Daniel Absi on Pexels.com All I did was pick a weed but you…
I am the dark thing under the bed — your bogeyman, lint-covered and alone, rasping and moaning I've yet to be fed. I am the dark thing under the bed waiting to seize feet leaping in dread away from dirt angels robbed of gravestone. I am the dark thing under the bed — your bogeyman, lint-covered and…
These firenadoes from the West whip me 'round to skin and bones, a never-before-known sight only detailed in dystopia. Encroaching on my doorstep, enrobed in Hesperides aflame, they want to take me away to Gehenna country in Oz. No illusory wizard can point me home. His balloon is halfway 'cross the Pacific, leaving ashes lying:…
From brackish swamp water to skies of crystalline specks, I call up in delight, feet feeding leeches while fingertips tickle the abyss of stratus, tempting rain to tease butterfly kisses along my freckles, press just so on the one mole that will send me into ecstasy for living sincerely by the bald cypress tree, breathing…
Daphne died to arrive not in Elysian Fields but still in her assailant's embrace. She fled all joys of life to reach in fear, one arm to Olympus, the other to Peneus, her father who barely managed to petrify her in bark, create a breathing statue Apollo could snap, rip, tear pieces to praise, grace…
Tied down by iron chains tight across my ribs, two-ton manacles ‘round my wrists — beyond immobile: I am inert, heading subterranean, sinking through solid rock like quicksand. The one I love, the one who is supposed to save me, says he is still amassing provisions, collecting coin, waiting until it’s not so sad to…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
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"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 