Poetry from Sara Barnard
When it felt something like a honeymoon
They are not infinite, the world and her treasures.
It is not uncounted the gold we can give.
World with an end for this has an end.
Still, safe in the swarming of a dusty afternoon
the gleam is incessant—shine stipples sovereign.
Being not without end, being not without mind
you trove me away for our next show of finite.
Stowed overhead I would be floor-sprawled
remauled, tied in constant opening. Or bed-bound,
aground, treasured in your weathering hands.
You turn pirate, claiming captives carelessly.
Gleaning wrecks of relished riches
………………………..past horizon’s silver strip
uncorralled…………..I watch myself walk planks.
Sara Barnard (she/her) is from the UK, has lived in Spain and Canada, and is now based on a sailboat in Central America, with her partner and child. Since finishing a PhD in Hispanic Studies, she has focused on sailing, parenting, and freelance writing (travel, music, culture). Her poems have been published by Bone & Ink Press, Glass Poetry Resists, Hypertrophic Literary, The Cerurove, and Okay Donkey, among others. Twitter: @sara_barnard Website: www.sarabarnard.wordpress.com