I’ve worn out this self, bruised my own body just for a word or a gesture. I have misspelt my own name all in the hope of a summer sky. Then autumn began to splinter the leaves and I thought: home may be what we call a burning thing.I forget what I’ve learnt and forget why I’ve written and grip onto you until my hands turn motes, turn coffee cold, turn I avoid my own grief till I’m laughing and submerged in it.

And when you come to me like a premonition or a long-forgotten poem, I begin to hope again. Which is to say: hold me famished. Which is to say: today I scare so easily. Which is to say: haul this hurt with me. When and if I mirror the girl I was in the nightmares, and take more than I can return, then: wake me gently. Then: stay with her.

I ask you to remember for my sake, the ways in which I have mastered the art of staying; I bring you a poem by Dickinson that goes: I am afraid to own a body, and beg you not to ask why.

Where did you put the candle I gave you?

Its body barren, beige, bent in beauty;

And are you willing

To lend the light?

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Margarida Brei
Margarida Brei(@margarida-brei)
8 months ago

Sarah, welcome to Voice.Club. I really like your repeated use of, “which is to say” and your profound interpretations. Utterly moving!

Sandra James
Sandra James(@sandra-james)
8 months ago

Welcome and well done, Sarah! Your story has a lovely poetic quality and I look forward to reading more of your work in the future  ? 

8 months ago

I love this story, Sarah. Unique and original, it invites the reader to go deeper. I especially like the last four lines:
Where did you put the candle I gave you?
Its body barren, beige, bent in beauty;
And are you willing
To lend the light?
I hope you will write more stories, and welcome us into your world again.

Lotchie Carmelo
Lotchie Carmelo(@lotchie-carmelo)
8 months ago

Welcome to the voice club, Sarah. I also love the poetic rhyme. So unique. Awesome. 

In addition, I was intrigued by your photo. 

Keep on writing. I am excited to read more from you.

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