You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘loss’ category.

search my pocket to double check

scrub the keys with my desperate fingers

afraid i’ve lost something important

like the anxious feeling of returning to the car

fearful the dog will mysteriously be gone

or the car won’t start

something gone wrong, i don’t want to face it

so instead, belongings take on a false importance, frantic if they’re out of my reach

what have i forgotten, where did i go wrong?
how could i let preciousness slip from my fingers?

the relief when my hand curves around the found cell phone or wallet

the key that fits easily into the lock

opens the door

welcomes me back to safety, of a home now silent of your voice

an absence not lost on me

settling into the art of how to relinquish
in a world where we’re only taught how to acquire

trust i can’t lose

trust it’s not possible

to lose what’s really important.


let me dream of you tonight
since i can’t see you with my daytime eyes
let my night vision see the texture of your skin
let me stand in your presence
gaze upon your form

speak to me
as you would when you were here
look at me, let me see your green eyes twinkle

your form is withheld from me here
so let me soft-dive into dreamscape
where you can take form
reveal your image to me…
i’m ready to see you now

don’t make me wait any longer
let me dream of you tonight.

aparigraha is a sanskrit word expressing non-possessiveness, non-grasping or non-greediness. it is the opposite of the desire for possessions. our beloved cinque terre, our retreat in sonoma, has burned to the ground. this poem was born from that experience. shiva has two meanings. One is the Hindu God, Shiva the Destroyer but there is also the Hebrew term shiva, the week long mourning period after a death.

shiva came through this place
smoke signals foretold

wiper of slates

Destroyer, you hit your mark
smeared your body with our ashes

crumbled our city
of material dreams, security illusions.

that which you have reduced to settled piles
disintegrates my grasp of worldly form

with one fierce sweep you’ve left me clinging
my fist clenching

nothing but material ash

oh shiva, open my eyes sealed by
beholding the “Plan”

my hands wail, they pound futile rage,
but all that is left is suffocating ash, a strangle of fear.

run! shiva has swept through here.
run for your life. run until you collapse in the horror stilled by the dissolution
and stand in it, melting like ice in fire

stand in the loss, in the center of it all, in the calm eye of the hurricane
release my false grip

travel through shiva’s eyes where destruction offers a path, that if taken
shows the soul beyond the pointless grasp, false security


shiva, destroyer
cut the cords to my grasp of that which is not my soul

leave only the cinders of what never belonged to me
force my hand open to lay on my heart
embrace eternal heart beat

let what has been taken
blow away in the winds

leaving me standing with palms open
on shiva’s purified ground.


her skin was white as snow
her hair black like raven, and eyes luminous black bear eyes, warm and round
she was so beautiful it made my heart swell

when i came near her, very near
my third eye tickled and i said to my brother’s girlfriend “i love you, mary”
and from then on, my forehead would tickle when i was near someone i loved

so it was easy to see that my robin hood brother and this fairy princess
were enchanted at 17

except when she missed her period
after that i don’t think any prince could wake her out of her fate, and before they knew it, the elders had handled the affairs and they were married

she found herself living in our cavernous house alone with me, a 7-year old
her teen husband worked nights at dr. pepper and mostly just stayed away doing not-good things
and my daddy worked late
poor adolescent snow white playing the mommy role way before her time

by now the spell wore off and i wasn’t in love with her anymore but i saw this commercial about deviled ham in a can, it looked so delicious i wanted it for dinner

she objected but i protested and she relented and made me a deviled ham sandwich on white bread

and there we sat
snow white, me, and her pregnant belly
but i couldn’t eat that salty pitch forked ham. it tasted nothing like the made-up story they sold
so i ran out to the woods and she screamed after me but not too hard because truly, how could she care?

she had enough on her mind with a ruined life and her apple so ripe

snow white in her cold-dream glass coffin wide awake
in a house so empty there weren’t even any ghosts for company

i left her there that night so long ago
my forlorn snow white
with nothing more than a tin of underwood deviled ham
and the bones of a poisoned castle.




my passion flower is wilting

home, home where the embers die down

my passion flower is thirsty

down, down where the fountain is dry

how will i file this away
lose this piece
tie new shoes of fresh lace
grow a new head
body to bed

passion flower wilting
embers still burn
my passion
my fountain
where my flower is wilting

Dahlia by Sarah Curtiss
see more of Sarah’s work at

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 879 other followers

Poetry Reading in Pacific Grove

Ode to Maestro Klein, Peninsula Symphony Orchestra

Performance for San Mateo County Supervisors

Poetry Reading by Maurine

Past Posts

Blog Stats

  • 18,234 hits

Blogs I Follow

Henrys Lake Cabin

Fun things to do in Idaho

Gary Direnfeld

Can you relate...

Bill's Blog

I love a statement I found attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “I wish to be known all over Europe for my humility.” Throughout my time as a writer and musician, I’ve tried to harbor a similar inclination, a sort of quiet pride in what I’ve done, but I am also well aware that, as far back as 1959, author Norman Mailer espoused, when it came to calling attention to one’s own work, what is a more efficacious attitude. He published Advertisements for Myself—and set the tone for a future we are all a part of now. So here’s Bill’s Blog.

Red Wolf Journal

A literary compass for finding your voice..."You turn toward me, your lips move, wanting to speak."--Stephen Dobyns, "Wolves In The Street"

Cupertino Poet Laureate

Celebrate Creativity

I Am Woman

a reminder that sensuality is a portal to the Divine

Dimitris Melicertes

I don't write, I touch without touching.

O-My Fragile Hart-O!

Life with a heart so fragile in His hands.


The power of poetry and spoken word.

off the margins

off the margins…into the wild terrain of women’s writing

Moon Mothers of Half Moon Bay

Personal enlightenment through Artistic Expression.

Lessons In Love

Speaking the words of my heart.

Beyond Words

Prose and Poetry by Robert S. King

Playing Your Hand Right

Showing America how to Live

Transformative Hypnotherapy

When it's time for a change!

Eunoia Review

beautiful thinking

Simple Pleasures

Visual Poetry, Photography and Quotes


A magazine for those who love all things paranormal


Just another site

Kourtney Heintz's Journal

Believing In The Unbelievables: From Aspiring Writer to Published Author


the beauty of words and colors


Just words

Craving The Mat


Teacher as Transformer

Transforming Education, and Leadership, Transcending Where We Each Are in Life


fiction with a dark edge


fatherhood, zen, and the buddha's footprints in an everyday life


Realizations & Revelations.

Snotting black

growing wild in the san francisco hills

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

Life as a Writer and Artist


The Book People Chronicles: A Story Writing Contest

create dynamic stories; raise funds for valuable causes

Carmen the Chicken Killer by Sarah Curtiss

This is the story of my 2-month stay in Costa Rica a few years ago. It wasn’t my first trip. I had visited the year before with my partner, William Solis, who is from Costa Rica. But this particular year I wanted to learn Spanish. My initial plan was to take an immersion course in Mexico. However, William said that if I was going to immerse myself in a Spanish family it might as well be his. They don’t speak any English so I would be forced to speak Spanish and I could get to know them better. I told him that when I returned I would know more about him and his family than he did and so it has proven to be true. William joined me for the last 10 days. This is my journal plus emails I wrote to family and friends and a few comments from my current perspective…six years later. I drew a picture every day using pencil, pen, colored pencil, water colors, and acrylics. I wrote in my journal almost every day. I took photographs.

Bay Area Backsides

for fans of fannies

Odds 'n Ends...the next generation

following in my parent's footsteps, a column about anything, everything and my Sarah Curtiss

%d bloggers like this: