Sunday, January 3, 2016

Sarah Frances Moran- Three Poems

Sarah Frances Moran is a writer, editor, animal lover, videogamer, queer Latina. She thinks Chihuahuas should rule the world and prefers their company to people 90% of the time. Her work has most recently been published or is upcoming in Drunk Monkeys, FreezeRay Poetry, Dirty Chai, Crabfat, Rust+Moth, Maudlin House and The Bitchin' Kitsch. She is Editor/Founder of Yellow Chair Review. You may reach her at

She Talks To Angels
Morphs into a sunrise
and chains that love like she meant to keep
it locked away.
She has the softest hands
and she speaks in tongues to those falling.
The kind of tongue speaking rough with weather
and leather and home.  
Like how I felt when I danced around my room
with my walkman blasting
screaming it so loud my parents would pound the walls
and hoping somewhere the peace was resting in between all the noise
handling it, handling it there.
She whispered to me inside the pound of the drum,
Waiting with her lips on the tip of the crescendo,
Chain keep us together!
That’s where the wildness grows, 
running in the shadows.   
That perfume
by Dana
that is a constant reminder
of Mama.
It’s honeyed fragrance
that truly smells
being 8 years old running down sidewalks
with newly made friends
bloomed from divorce
and enveloping hugs
after sweaty days of play.
A reminder
of times when doubts ran with laughter
and pain danced with smiles.
A reminder
that love managed to hide
in the smallest crevices of the basement
of my devastation.
She drops matches
pre-lit with blue fire
that trail her as she walks.
her thresholds rage in 3 alarms
and even the sun winces
I wear sunglasses to bed
and always in her presence,
because the cerulean radiates my skin.
She leaves trickles of sweat and road rash
in the really delicate places.
You know that will to hold on and hold on
even when your hand is right over the flame?
The way it burns and releases like
the softest exhale?
I asked her once to place me in her pocket
but she said I’d just burn up.
I crawled in anyway and learned I was fire-proof.
She fondles me now, 
finds comfort in the smooth marks the heat left,
places me in her palm and blows my spark
into the night…
I’ve never shined so bright.

No comments:

Post a Comment