Sarah J. Sloat​

​

​

​

​

Study with Nightcap

​
 

Rain made a blur of the buildings and lit windows.

 

 

I stopped by the Greeks for a glass of wine.

 

 

On the wall a painting of what seemed to be a ball of yarn, asymmetrical.

 

 

Perfection quite off the agenda.

 

 

The yarn loomed across the room like a far-off planet.

 

 

You couldn’t make out a thing that was happening.

 

 

I left it to my imagination.

 

 

All in all, my career as a voyeur has been remarkable in its poverty.

 

 

Found wanting vs. found longing.

 

 

The waitress thanked me for my patience.

​

​

​

​

Train into Winter

 

​

October kicks over its own kindling-

twilight early, never fail.

 

 

I’ve been clipping fuses,

 

 

skirting a larger problem

with when and whether to decide.

 

 

We’ll arrive but the sun has a headstart.

 

 

I remember when

something as plain as snowfall

would ease me —

 

 

clearing lengths of overthinking

I threw out like tracks.

 

 

October, you’re the saboteur

of your own beauty. Sun, you’re flying

 

 

out ahead of us too fast.

​

​

​

​