a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Sarah Lyn Rogers

Familiar

 

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.

Spine-tingling

vibrations

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.

Carefully,

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