a poetry e-zine










Sarah Lyn Rogers



Only my books anoint me...

Maybe I am becoming a hermit,

opening the door for only

a few special animals?


Anne Sexton, “The Witch’s Life”



Rush-rush of rubber ball-bounce,

lazy backbeat under slide!slap!smack!

“Miss Mary Mack”

the little cacklers, chickadees

singsonging during snack:


observed by me, small thing

with back against the wall,

detachedly reading.


There was never an attack

toward this shy bookworm spawn--

just background sounds, games, handshakes

to which I was never drawn.


My finest friends are feline,

solo wanderers, like me.

Their slink-instincts, elusion,

are the basis of beauty.



Spider Hands


When the leaves changed,

I drew the blinds

and buried you deep where the skeletons dance.


When wind chill whips my naked nape,

I feel your fingers

padding softly:


Spider hands crept up the neck

and plucked the strings.



set my blood abuzz.


You quivered;

I froze.


I love the winter chill,

but, oh,

how you beckon, Mr. Bones.


Sometimes, (bit by tiny bit)

I unearth you.


so as not to thaw.



Sarah Lyn Rogers is a writer, editor, and illustrator from the San Francisco Bay Area. She studied Creative Arts and Creative Writing at San Jose State University and currently works as a mentor and project manager for Society of Young Inklings.

Copyright 2013  Chantarelle's Notebook