4 poems

Sarah Karowski

self-nourishment

this night was quiet. 
a kind of dark that lets 

the moon’s deep waning 
crescent spotlight my backyard. 

each blade of grass 
as clear as the first peak of dawn—

stripped of intimidation 
& mystery, midnight radiates

from my soles & winter pricks
my exposed shoulder—i understand, 

now! this world can’t be all bad! 
i still feel safe in my home.  

waiting for me, i have a warm bed 
& a new candle, lit. 

my water is iced with a splash 
of lemon. i have words to write

& a will to write them. this life
cannot be not all bad.

this city is so loud:

unsafety on skin, sticky
arms pricked by wind, i hear down 
our street: canine chorus

sing melodies of resistance—
on the other side of the road, machines clang, 
sirens whistle this militant hymn, 

& across the country people tie 
themselves to boats, self-immolate, 
& even still, men bomb children. 

it’s so loud—inside, in my heart: chaos 
tosses, then turns—spills 
up my throat like acid 

from an empty stomach. 
i can’t find steady 
ground.  i want only

a moment of stillness 
in this backyard, but crickets 
are drowned out by a honda 

revving like a doppler & 
the children that are always screaming 
& sirens continue blaring— 

unhoused people are ran 
out of the woods off pensacola, again.
no one bother the paraplegic 

who–at midday–lies on bright 
concrete. she didn’t fall, 
she’s just resting.

who’s to say what is safe? 
when my life isn’t presently in danger? 
when my brother’s stopped beating me, says 

i should be thankful, so i’m thankful?
who’s to say what color the sky is today? blueblack 
that dances off these canopies, 

or the murky grey fog genocide?
who’s to say this is prophecy? this heaviness 
in the night—a rustling squirrel 

scurries & birds search 
for safety, push the branch pulled down 
by Hurricane Helene

months ago, trip & stumble. 
this thud reverberates 
in my spine:

the night is loud. 
my atoms shake with 
uncertainty. 

who am i? 
just a pea rolling 
away from the fork. 

to what end? 
my breath will stop when 
my sky turns golden.

moth tanka on healing

like this common gray
still on the back window glass,  
incensed. depleted. 
i know i cannot linger. 
i’ve risked everything to fly.

[i lost myself in tallahassee…]

i lost myself in tallahassee, 
tangled in canopies, swallowed
among this sliver of sky 

& i am immersed in renaissance. 
she who redeems this body
believes in fixer uppers—

she who blows dust from 
between these ears breathes 
for serenity above all—she 

who picks this puddy of person
finds herself at jackson mounds regularly, 
past the “do not cross” bend 

of the trail, where the air is crisp 
the land is quiet—she who 
will be chooses for herself 

the delicacy of healing, the 
revolution of pleasure, 
the liberation of sanguinity.