Sarai Austin

writer

  • Home
  • About
  • Making the Bed
  • Posts
  • Who I Am
  • Obituary Card
  • Photos of Sarai
  • Chapbooks
  • Chronological – There is No Autobiography but This
  • Easter Sunday, April 16, 2017
  • June, 1976
  • Peace Pilgrim

Recent Posts

  • Once more into the abyss of the time beyond. November 4, 2017
  • address October 13, 2017
  • Keyboard (Sarai’s 9/11 poem) October 10, 2017
  • trifles October 9, 2017
  • biting October 4, 2017

Categories

  • Home
  • About
  • Making the Bed
  • Posts
  • Who I Am
  • Obituary Card
  • Photos of Sarai
  • Chapbooks
  • Chronological – There is No Autobiography but This
  • Easter Sunday, April 16, 2017
  • June, 1976
  • Peace Pilgrim

Pages

  • Posts
  • Sarai
    • About
    • Answers
    • Chapbooks
      • 46 Postcards
      • Autumn Comes
      • Bare Woman
      • In, then Out
      • In, then Out
      • Other Summers – (long version)
      • Other Summers – (short version)
        • All Action Is Useless
        • Answers
        • Beige
        • Bird Rocked
        • Caffeine
        • Country Girls
        • Flash And Nails Part two
        • Grasping
        • In European Films
        • In The Cemetery
        • Love Notes
        • Other Summers
        • Premenstrual Tension
        • Sepia
        • Sibyl
        • Sundays
        • The Photo Caption
        • Watermelon
      • Provocative Duet
      • Sassafrass – blues poems
        • A Little Unfinished Song
        • Bottle Neck Blues
        • Clothes Line Blues
        • I’m A Hog For Ya, Honey
        • Junky
        • Kansas City Blues
        • Mean Woman Blues
        • Mr. Trouble
        • Sassafrass
        • Service Junky
        • We Got The Blues
      • Something in Return – long poems (2003)
        • Chords
        • Cowboys
        • Maintaining the Archives
        • Pieces
        • Shirts
        • The Wedding
        • Train
        • Voices
    • Chronological – There is No Autobiography but This
      • 1970s
        • 1970s – undated and unordered
        • 1975-May, 1976
        • After June, 1976
        • June, 1976
      • 1980s
        • 1980s loose
        • 1980s MS
      • 1990s
      • 1994poems
      • 1995poems
      • 1996 Poems
      • 1997 Poems
        • 1997-1
        • 1997-2
        • 1997-3
        • 1997-4
      • 1998
        • 1998 Poems
        • 1998, April and May
        • 1998, February and March
        • 1998, January
        • 1998, June through August
        • 1998, September through December
      • 1999 Poems
        • 1999 Poems 1
        • 1999 Poems 10
        • 1999 Poems 2
        • 1999 Poems 3
        • 1999 Poems 4
        • 1999 Poems 5
        • 1999 Poems 6
        • 1999 Poems 7
        • 1999 Poems 8
        • 1999 Poems 9
        • 1999 Poems undated
      • 2000
        • 2000 Poems 1
        • 2000 Poems 2
        • 2000 Poems 3
        • 2000 Poems 4
        • 2000 Poems 5
      • 2001
        • 2001, April – June
        • 2001, August
        • 2001, February
        • 2001, January
        • 2001, July
        • 2001, March
        • 2001, September-December
      • 2002
        • 2002 Poems 1
        • 2002 Poems 2
        • 2002 Poems 3
        • 2002 Poems 4
      • 2003
        • 2003 Poems 1
        • 2003 Poems 2
      • 2004Poems
        • 2004Poems-1
        • 2004Poems-2
        • 2004Poems-3
      • 2005Poems
        • 2005Poems-1
        • 2005Poems-2
        • 2005Poems-3
      • 2006Poems
        • 2006Poems-1
        • 2006Poems-2
        • 2006Poems-3
      • 2007Poems
        • 2007Poems-1
        • 2007Poems-2
      • 2008 Poems
      • 2009 Poems
      • 2010 Poems
      • 2011 Poems
      • 2012poems
      • 2013poems
      • 2014poems
      • 2015poems
      • 2016poems
    • Easter Sunday, April 16, 2017
    • making the bed
    • Peace Pilgrim
    • Photos of Sarai
    • Who I am:
Skip to content

Sarai Austin


up to> 1998
back to> 1998 Poems
forward to> 1998, February and March
 

98poems/handwriting

Now that I have
my handwriting back
I can begin to build
my world.
Some people work in stone,
I prefer ink,
this sweet green
gliding across the page,
these fat, school girl lines
that have let me have
my true hand again,
allowed it to return,
like a doll imagined lost,
and kept it here long enough
that now I trust it
to stay.

Where did my handwriting
go those other years,
when it had to be
crammed in school’s
narrow lines,
the world’s small spaces,
and hurried schedules
that did not permit
slow curves and swoops,
pens that didn’t inspire me,
too much blue and black
but now –
it’s back!

1/23/98

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20  »»
Proudly powered by WordPress ~ Theme: Scrawl by WordPress.com.