Four Poems by Sarah Marchant

Autumn ’11

This is the October of grasshoppers and cricket-cousins
robin’s egg scarves trailing the ground
gathering dirt from sport shoes, homecoming high heels.
This is the October of tea stains on the countertop
cucumber seeds ground into the carpet off a sandwich that we shared,
left to cool for too long.
This is the October of dirty laundry, dirty mugs,
expired coupon deals with coffee rings branded on,
sheets of stamps and piles of letters
comic clippings and tea sachets
Cheyenne’s purple blouse
and dollops of fresh air too small to swallow.

autumn still weighs on me

and the leaves still fall
stuttering in my path
borrowing the dark to
keep you
a stray instance
uncovered, eclipsing the sky
edges crumple

sugar spell,
you will not hold me
I have grown
I can see your tricks
the tone that
beckons, a
as safe light(a shelter)
but I will not be tangled
in orange strings
t-t-tension pulled

my dear
my loved one
there is no atmosphere
I suck out your voice
kill the temptation
and suffocate the memories


hiccups rack my body like it’s
coming apart at the seams and
claire sits sipping something,
maybe coffee, in her black and
yellow dress; shamar takes four
creams in his, while i prefer
milk, two sugars, and threads of
hazelnut. rain-speck details like
lee’s impending court case, valerie
prepping for her senior art show,
anxiously painting while watching
her korean dramas. sure there
are eight or nine planets in our
solar system but ellen loves
robin hood and pirates, baseball
boys and sweet tea by the jug.
gigi wishes josiah was still in
choir, and i wish the tornado would
tear through and sweep me up
in a fit of fresh flower petals.


Edge of headache, brimming.
Fluff of blue princess costume
flowing from aisle to scuffed aisle
trapped. Hundred tiny candles
blink multi-colored eyes
praying – “leave soon?”
“free soon?”
Gnawing around the tongue
ever-so-eager to agree with
aching, angry, intolerable skulls.
Not the one the boy carried, mind
just one throwing canvases
with no paint and no time for children
you child.

Profile: Sarah Marchant

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