November 16, 2023
Poems By Sarah A Foote
Starstruck Curious U-Phoric Burgeoning Astronaut (SCUBA)
The sea of salt stars
is a gasping ache of space
Inner and outer, there are flickers
of recognition: each shell a planet,
Starstuff spinning. I feel a tide
has crashed around me, only
my ankles are safely exposed.
Despite the liftoff, I am still on land.
Why then does the vacuum roar,
its silence an invitation to deafness?
I cannot hear but all around me
crustaceans fall like shooting stars.
New Jewels
I miss my full set of Mardi Gras beads. This year, I barely got
my act together to loop three basics around my neck: purple
for justice, gold for power, green for faith. The rest have dwindled.
Used to have so many. Baubles emblazoned in memory.
Weary strands, stretched and broken, feel like a sigh, a sign.
Years past, I spent these days in self-made confinement. Lent
My Expertise to those wary of resolutions, absolution. You don’t
have to give something up; you can take something on! What
was it -- meat, carbs, alcohol? I lost seven pounds that one year.
A Lenten miracle! Forty days of Diet Worship. What Jesus would
have cared about, surely. More fish and bread for the rest of them,
due to my sacrifice. Some lose the Christianity for the cross, you know?
I’m older now, Jewish and tired, but the glitzy throws still appeal.
Next year, I’ll gather up new jewels. Resurrect the gaudy, godly woman,
Tabasco veins and fish-fry eyes. Imago Dei, Laissez les bons temps rouler!
Learn more about Sarah A. Foote: Instagram (@lady_soleil) and LinkedIn (Sarah A. Foote)