Poems by Marie Sayler
springish scene
every year a day comes where i am driving fast
on the wide empty roads that cradled my childhood, wet with snowmelt and
blinding in the sun.
my hair is clean and soft and down,
and all the windows are open.
arm out the driver’s side
music as loud as i can stand
and it is spring, spring,
crisp and cold and warmwet,
the remains of the past 100 years that lay buried beneath snow now revealed in all the blooming glory
that fills my head with love each year
as if for the first time.
for once,
you are no longer on my mind –
washed down the grate
with the biting snow
that used to hold me captive.
when there are only a few hours of light each day, nocturnal nightcrawler boys
feel like all-day lovers,
but when the sun rises
they scatter and i am left alone
the fool.
spring, thank god,
brings too much sharp light
for your poorly sketched fawning to pass for the
technicolor devotion
that we both know i deserve.
dead things
you and i see dead things every day.
it doesn’t matter if it’s roadkill on
I-94,
or our respective childhood selves
and their ghostly rattling chains,
we are no strangers
to things that used to live.
we could probably stop digging them up, though.
life might be quieter
if we let the sutures heal,
instead of milking every wound for all it’s worth.
one day, we will run out of ghosts.
don’t tell anyone, but
when that day comes
i think you will break my heart
just to give me something new to write about.
real girl
down by the river the other day,
i felt the light on my skin and
it didn’t pass right through.
the cold water between my fingers and
the earth beneath my nails
set my feet firmly in the world
and i was just as solid as the dead fish six yards away
and the people in the pickup trucks whizzing past.
i looked so beautiful.
i wish you could have seen.
the sun in my hair
and the mud on my hands,
i swear to god i looked like a real live person this time,
like i was born human and lived human and nothing could take that from me.
i looked good.
good enough to eat/look at/love,
and that’s why you were on the other side of town
when all this happened.
i don’t think i’ll ever be a person
in front of you,
even if you see me as one.
i don’t think i can do it.
but does it really matter?
if i’m a box of bolts when you’re with me
but i’m pliant flesh once a month at the riverbank alone,
i don’t mind so much being the box.
i can be a real girl.
i just can’t be yours.
RRCC 