Hold Them Close
Sarah Agnew
Hold Them Close
Copyright © 2018 Sarah Agnew. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-5503-6
hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-5504-3
ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-5505-0
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
Acknowledgements
Some poems in this collection have previously been published on the author’s blog: sarahtellsstories.blogspot.com, or in recorded versions at soundcloud.com/sarahtellsstories. ‘chase the wild goose’ was composed by request during, and as part of, worship at Greyfriars Kirk, Edinburgh, Pentecost 2016.
I publish these poems with gratitude for the stories, people, and Spirit, who inspired so many of them, and who demonstrate again and again that we are only fully human with each other.
now. a day.
the sun shimmers,
but today I cannot shine.
the songs of the birds dance
to my ears, but my heart
will not join them, not
today.
the children play,
but, oh today, this does
not evoke, not even
a glimmer.
my blue eyes are but faded
watermark
today.
my heart’s strings are stretched
and snapped and smack
the bars of its cage,
on repeat,
and repeat,
repeat.
my lips are a salt bed
in the shimmering sun
today, cracked edges peeled
back on a silent cave,
today.
to breathe
When I look at the glass and see
the curves the world would deem
unpretty, I look again, for in
these curves are asides
the pills have cast, a story
and a struggle with unbalance and
disorder;
beneath them lies the strength
required to crawl towards the light.
These curves, this body is alive—
conclusion not foregone, and not
forgotten, the beauty
of the choice
A lonely fragment
the edges of my happy wrinkle,
burnt with the flame of sad, a light
remembered in a darkened room;
I had you near a short, sweet time—
The End came from far, too soon.
my happy is torn in many places,
holes and gaps and empty spaces;
you, and they, and here, and now,
wrapped raggedness with sacred leaves,
a holy cover holding tight
for a while.
could we but rest a moment
longer within that blissful binding if
this book could only be
the only story in your library?
but suddenly, or seemingly, it is
undone,
you are gone, and I,
once more,
am all
the colour penitent
purple teardrops
falling from the sky
purple raindrops
make puddles in my eyes
purple scarlines
invisible, inside
purple wine drops
spill over all denial
Dragon’s tears
gay | gei | adjective : “lighthearted and carefree”
is anyone lighthearted, do
you think, at one small group
declaring for all the manner in
which we are to be happy?
