Friday, May 11, 2012


(Pine Trees painting taken from here)

I’ve been finding it difficult
lately to have much faith
in the things I once
took to define me. 
Like writing, for instance,
that need to impress
on the world
what I make of it.  
Why bother,
the mind asks, 
(not unreasonably, I think)
when it’s been said often enough 
and better-- 

Why contribute to the 
overcrowded amphitheater? 
I don’t know.
Maybe this lack of ambition is
merely depression’s indifferent 
cousin or a bug I can’t shake or 
maybe it has something to do 
with the wintery landscapes
I keep plumbing in my sleep,
brushing the snow from
my head and my shoulders
before I am fully awake. 
(This is not true.)
No, the mind is not
complacent; it apprehends 
and grasps; it has learned things 
along the way, in spite 
of itself.  
Logic holds that we must be the
craftsmen to our artists’ dreams
or the hunger will die
and days’ll pile up like 
existential episodes on the DVR. 
So everyone is invested in some-
thing, even if it’s just the notion  
of a personal narrative.
Everyone picks a religion. 
And so I reach for you.
when we are locked to-
gether inside our mortal
storm, like a boat unto
water or--wait, no
like just 
you and me
--bodies free of
any editorial eye
You looking 
into me 
Me looking 
into you
That is honest.
That is end and epiphany
And so I say: 
I may never write again. 
And so you reply,
Sarah. There is snow in your hair. 


Anonymous said...

I am speechless, Sarah.

You have me by the throat. You did as soon as you reached for Paul.

The last two lines. Tears.

I can't even talk.

I may never write again

My dear friend, you just did.

Isaac Hooke said...

Brilliant! Loved it from the beginning

Wendy said...

Sarah, glad to see you posting! It's always nice to see a new piece from you.

Richard Levangie said...

Your voice, so sweet and subtle and joyous, matters to me. The voices of others around you will fade just a little when we can't hear your voice.

I know this to be true. Writing is your first, best thing.

When your words flow like water in a brook, and you are thrilled by that crystal symphony, keep writing. When your words are bought with pain and anguish, keep writing.

You may not realize it, but we need you. We always have. We always will.

Writing is your first, best thing.

Karen said...

This is wonderful work, as always, Sarah, and so complex...many layered and leveled, but most importantly, as good poetry does, it speaks to me, even though it's you.

By the way... is that Jen there? Hey, girl!

Sarah Hina said...

JAZ, you're a dear. And that's all I can say right now. Thank you, my friend.

Isaac, great to see you and thanks!

Wendy, I love me a new Wendy post, too. Thank you!

Richard, wow, I'm floored. Thank you for that. It means something. It means quite a lot.

We need you, too.

Karen, I really wrote this poem so that I could see YOU again. :)

Your recent poems have been so exquisite. I'm gratified by your words here.

Now we just need Aniket to swing by...

Roshni S said...

brilliant!! totally loved it

the walking man said...

Glad you know you write because you can and not because you have to sarah...just keep forgetting that winter hat.

Catvibe said...

Write for you, because you must and for no other reason. Beautiful self reflections here Sarah.

Charles Gramlich said...

Been thinking many of ht esame kinds of thoughts myself lately.

Aniket Thakkar said...

Aniket to Jaz on April 11, 2012 at 8:50 pm IST over a personal email "At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I don't think I could write, if Sarah isn't around."

You can check it's validity with her if you want. And I meant it coz who would be keeping an eye on me then. Who'd tell me where I'm going wrong or how to improve upon, and who would I be chasing as a goal?

So don't you ever say : I may never write again

You don't want to end the journey of a relatively young (we'll everyone's relatively young when you keep Jaz around) author on a possible multi-billion dollor career path. Do you? Do you, Sarah Hyna?!

P.S. I'm willing to look this over as a work of fabulous fiction and your artistic mastery, for some pancakes and doughnuts.

Sarah Hina said...

Roshni, thanks!

Mark, I probably think too much about writing instead of just doing it. Thank you, my friend.

Cat, it's difficult to keep one's motivations pure. But you're absolutely right. Thank you for this and for your email, which was lovely.

Charles, I guess it's inevitable from time to time.

Aniket, multi-billion?? Well, when you put it that way....

I better get cracking.

I would love to eat pancakes and doughnuts with you. If you bring some to Athens, I'll write (and keep an eye on you writing) until my next inevitable sugar crash. In which case I'll send you out for some waffles (and chocolate).

Thanks, you.

Aniket Thakkar said...

"Mirror Mirror on the wall, who's the laziest of 'em all?"


"Anike... waitaminnit... did she just ask you to bring your own pancakes and doughnuts, all the way to Athens? Hyna! Sarah Hyna for sure. I'm positive."

Oh, by the way, some friends and I are planning a Euro Trip in August. Would love to meet Margaret & Stephen Parrish, if they're available during that time.

Stephen Parrish said...

Beautiful poem.

Sarah Hina said...

Aniket, I think we'd all make ourselves available for you. (IF you bring doughnuts. Hyna has needs.)

Steve, smanks.

Anonymous said...

"There is snow in your hair"... So beautiful. I'm so glad I found your blog. I'm new to the blogosphere and starting to write stuff, but your blog is my first encounter with writing of this quality on a blog.. I hope it's the beginning of finding lots of writers like you. Inspiring, Sarah. Thank you.

Sarah Hina said...

Atta, you're very welcome. And thank you in turn. Your comment reminds me how important it is to put our work out there. I've gotten so much from blogging over the years.

I'd highly recommend checking out some of the writers here, if you're looking for inspiration. And I look forward to reading your work, too.

ShadyLane said...

this was wonderful, hope to read more from you.

Ivy Sarmiento said...

You write brilliantly and, being a writer myself, I felt as if you could read my thoughts completely.

there is something different about your writing. Something unnamed and incredibly clear. Deep. Makes me feel like I'm down in an impossibly beautiful world.