Sally Sandler Poems

Yours is not a clear or classic beauty.
Nothing like the leaves of liquidambar,
the flowers of the purple jacaranda,
or stature of the regal redwood tree.
...

Silence is the language of their choice—
the mountain peaks holding up the sky
that shoulder it and never question why,
like Atlas propping up the universe.
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Flat as a prairie is my soul …
without canyon, without crest
or cliff or hill to climb and stroll.
Now that death has taken toll,
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Death arrived, and time's too much—
where before there wasn't time
to say I love you near enough—
now I stare, and wonder why
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"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses
to grow sharper."-William Butler Yeats
...

"Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then."
-Bob Seger, Songwriter, "Against the Wind"
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It's only 6: 45 a.m. You're early today,
my reflection watching me in the mirror
in your zippered robe, smearing on
cold cream to remove your face
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Tell me again how the grassland swayed
as if in worship, waving to sky
whenever the mute-footed giants walked by,
and tell of the mountains on earth they made.
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There is a cabin that doesn't exist,
and hides in a wilderness of pine.
I count the moss covered stairs that I climb
to escape there—ten steps into the mist.
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Her name is June, though she's willow
as spring. I am coast live oak in the fall.

She is a dimple in milk-glass skin. I am
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