#POEMpadour

[austentatious]

You have taken to wearing around your father’s hand-me-down anger. I wish

that you wouldn’t.

It’s a few sizes too big and everyone can see it doesn’t fit you, hangs loose in all

the wrong places, even if it does match your skin color.

Hand-me-downs | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Men will drift eternal. Men will say, It’s just a scratch, when the cannons have shot them full of holes. They will look at their tiny driftwood tied with strings and say, Ship. They will look at the broken wheel between their hands and say, Captain. They will look to the men who have jumped overboard without them and say, Crew.

Ghost Ship | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s swept away.

B | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night.

The Type | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

You memorized every love poem he wrote for someone else and slept on a pillow that had held her slumber.

Lightning | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

It is hard to stop loving the ocean. Even after it has left you gasping, salty.

The Type | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Whenever I hurt myself, my mother says

it is the universe’s way of telling me to

slow down.

The Ladder | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

I have seen the Taj Mahal

at sunrise, I remember

what love and pain can build.

A Place to Put Our Hands | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

What is it about immortality? With the right sword and shield, we think we can fend off anger, fear, and hatred. If our legs are strong enough, we think we can outrun age, loss, and death.

Jellyfish | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

There are places where fishnets do not mean stockings, where the learning happens in between moments, like after a wave passes, and you break the surface gasping for air.

Montauk | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Some people read palms to tell your future, I read hands to tell your past.

Each scar marks a story worth telling. Each callused palm, each cracked

knuckle, is a broken bottle, a missed punch, a rusty nail, years in a factory.

Now, I watch Middle Eastern hands

clenched in Middle Eastern fists.

Pounding against each other like war drums, each country sees their fists as

warriors, and others as enemies, even if fists alone are only hands.

But this is not a poem about politics; hands are not about politics.

This is a poem about love.

Hands | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

I have known so many men whose hulls have been made hollow by the salt of this sea, whose sails are pulled so tightly into the wind, whose rudders no longer point to anything but drowning. How do you keep a boy floating? How do you keep him above the ache?

Ghost Ship | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

We kissed with mouths open, breathing his exhale into my inhale and back. We could have survived underwater or in outer space, living only off the breath we traded. We spelled love G-I-V-E.

Private Parts | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

When I meet you, in that moment,

I am no longer a part of your future.

I start quickly becoming part of your past.

But in that instant, I get to share a part of your present.

And you get to share a part of mine.

And that is the greatest present of all.

Hiroshima | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Still now, I send letters into space, hoping that some mailman somewhere

will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems;

he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, There is a girl who still writes you.

She doesn’t know how not to.

Postcards | Sarah Kay

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[austentatious]

Do not mistake yourself for a guardian. Or a muse. Or a promise. Or a victim. Or a snack.

You are a woman. Skin and bones. Veins and nerves. Hair and sweat. You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies. Not excuses.

The Type | Sarah Kay

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