Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-three
April 2017
Sara Barnett

There’s a lot of ego floating in the atmosphere today
Lazy skies and days where I just play –
Act, like I’m unpart of any age and beat the drum.

Like sauce that’s spread real thin on plate
Or dust that lays in the lines within
The very cracks of this sidewalk-march to death, where
We bake or save the dates. I don’t plan too far ahead anymore. People keep buzzing at, knocking at my door.
I just ignore the calls. I just pretend that the window blocked up because the rope was old, even
though my ego, oven-fire
stoked, burns to hear you say, “I have missed you.
Please, please come in from the storm.”

Because even then, I may laugh, rueful, and throw my hair jet black into red hood,
feed small cakes to the hungry birds, and say, Oh yeah? Come and find me

Between the trees, where the mosses have hidden path below in one beatific
soundless noise, and water drops in do.

I wish that time would stop and look around. Take stock of all its found and let it be.
I wish, sometimes, there was no such thing as witness. You to me.

Let me up let me up let me up!
I strap the arrows, quiver. Seek the dark.

About Sara Barnett

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