Wednesday, April 26, 2017


Take my hand, let's plunge 
into woods, dart between pines
like fairy-tale riffraff
sprung from a cage

Something is lurking, 
Something sees 
Is that why the rocks are so rigid and straight?
Why else should we stick 
like words to our page?

What if, instead, you let go
of my hand
and pushed me, ungently,
into a lake? 

What if I laughed
instead of getting mad,
slime on my head
a fish up the leg?  

Impossible to live
like orphans, you say, 
but it's spring 
and I'm drunk 
and I want to 
be nuts 

The clock says I've lived
but half of this life 

I want to get wet,
be charged with a quest,
kiss your hot neck— 

storm the castle

make off with the lamb 


Charles Gramlich said...

I love the playfullness of this.

Sarah Hina said...

That's good to hear, Charles. Thanks.

joaquin carvel said...

the image i got from "pushed me, ungently" made me laugh. but i love the feeling of kicking open a door, breaking free - the thrill of jumping without knowing if it's a good idea or a bad one. i like that spring can blur that line sometimes.

Sarah Hina said...

Yeah, there's a kind of mania to spring that I was trying to capture here. Making the words a vehicle for that energy, if a flimsy one.

It's important to still allow yourself to feel that, I think. It might be the closest thing we have to some kind of fountain of youth.

Thanks. :)