The greatest gift I gave myself Is the pleasure of my own company To find in that calming, accepting presence, The grace to exist completely. – Sara Myriad, 2022
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Stripes
The way I see it, there are two types of people The first appreciates the tiger for what it is Rejoices when the animal is alive and fierce in its element, Respects and adores without confining The second wants that striped pelt for themselves Hunts, takes, proudly displays, Not caring the essence of what the tiger was, is lost…
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A Vase or a Book
I give to others, Because, like poetry is the truth In the breath and words I exhale, I cannot love any other way Than deeply and rawly. I reject, refuse The fear of loss, becoming less. Vital parts breaking away, a final straw, Rendering me, finally, as dust. I won’t be a vase made of fragments, But rather cloth,…
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Seabirds
Today, I am soft, weak; a shell less hermit crab, You’re a seagull, beak snatching, eyes pitch and cold. Tomorrow, I will be that seabird, air-lifted, arrogant, Tomorrow is years away, but my strength is loyal, Shrieking back like cicadas just when I’ve forgotten, So, today, I say nothing, ask nothing, Nothing, nothing, Today, I say nothing. – Sara…
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My Muse is a Bastard
I wish you wouldn’t insist on waking me Early every morning, fingers in my hair, Sweet words on your lips An inch from my ear. I rise from bed, drunk, Full, ripe, words ready to spill forth; Yet, as soon as pen touches paper, They lighten, transform to cotton candy. And melt away gently in the rain, Leave me…
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The Crocodile Year
A colossus in the currents With claws drifting serenely down And green-gold eyes Seeing, but not revealing. Try explaining to that grinning mouth The merits of followers, likes on selfies, And checking “just one more” work email. We rush manically, frantically, As though we’re expected at our funerals Ten full years before the Reaper calls. Planned days laid out…
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Slam Poem
I’ve tried to write Succinctly, brutally, Vitally, seductively, But apparently, “Poetry” simply means Writing Like This – Sara Myriad, 2020
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Petals or Stars for Company
Let me not be a flower, With delicate blooms the sheerness of dreams, And a fondness for gentle touches, Or the longing to have my scent admired. Instead, let me be a comet Streaking through the night sky, Unashamed of my fire; dazzling, daring all to see. And yet….mysterious. Cold. Untouchable. – Sara Myriad
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Farewell to Summer
When my grandpa died, soon after my grandma, I drove up north with my husband, Thinking about an ice cream shop Where children sat and ordered real sodas That melted sticky sickly-sweet with ice cream. Of antique shops with names like Carousel, Matched by charming interiors. Or the flea market Only open on weekends, But I had all the…
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A Hole in the Ice
And when I leave you, It won’t be the gradual chill of winter mornings Found in the beginning of the season, When berries hang fat and red on their stems And birds puff up their feathers, Like old men hunched down in woolen scarves and mittens Lovingly made by old women. It will be a plunge into icy water, …
