Thursday, 15 September 2016

A poem by Sarah Satterlee

When I Lost the House


Flurry of coins on hardwood,
haphazard, flat hailstones,

she stands above them shaking
the ceramic cow,

they shimmer and skate
in loops, each swooning mirror.

Is it enough? she asks,
moon-eyed.

I wrap each photograph
in paper,

each dish,
each half-burnt candlestick,

I line them up in boxes
like offerings to the dead.






Sarah Satterlee is a graduate of Rhode Island College, where she was the recipient of the 2007 Jean Garrigue Award for her collection of poems. Her work has appeared in McSweeney's Internet Tendency, The Wilderness House Review and Chronique. She lives in Rhode Island with her daughter, where she works as a nurse.

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