Two Poems by Sarah Hay

Where Her Peace is Found

Her peace begins the moment the door shuts. 
Outside the door everything is scary, but here in this place,
every curiosity goes unquestioned.

You can see it the moment her eyes open 
to the sounds of morning light streaming
through the windows. 

You can taste it in the warm cup of coffee
held firmly in her hands. The leaves of the ivy twinkling 
green with delight. 

You can see it when she looks deep into the mirror
with legs wide and open and playful. Every lip and wrinkle and roll 
bubbling at being unbothered. 

You can find it in the pages of books stacked high and
the music of her choosing fills the walls. She sings her own song
and dances carefree without fear of being called worthless. 

You can find it on the carpet where a towel becomes a picnic blanket
and the red wine topples without anyone saying a word. 
Only her words matter.

The night stillness wraps her in an embrace and a new voice cracks. 
It cracks like a chick breaking free of its womb, goopy and confused.  
She bursts forth again and again in the morning sunrise. 

Her new voice shakes, stretches, opens the door, and
demands to be heard. 

Mother Daughter

Friends, family, and even people on the street told us I looked just like you. 
In a family of blonde hair and blue eyes, the pair of us rebelled and 
dared to have brown hair brown eyes. 
Yours more hazel and mine with a ring of green around the edges.  
Mirrors show me just how my curves slope in the same places as yours. 
With each passing day the cells on my thighs obey your instructions. 
Hold the extra weight on the side, right on the hip bone and along the inner thigh. 
These special places were once smooth and muscular. 
The firm, smooth milkiness gave way to dark pink intersecting lines and puckered fat. 
My full lips and round, centered cheekbones point to you in every smile. 
“You look just like her.” 
“You are your mother’s daughter.” 
Although, there are things I took from you I did not ask for.
There are things from you I carried and had to break free from. 
There are things about you I will never understand. 
There are things about me you will never understand. 
It hurts to know you’ve never come to love yourself. 
A part of you will always resent me because I know myself. 
But when I laugh hard, I sound just like you. 
When we laugh together, it has the power to heal. 
Your blood is my blood. 
My blood is your blood.
I don’t know if you will ever face what causes your wounds. 
All I know is I have to make sure they don’t bleed over.  
Sarah Hay

Sarah’s divorce in her early 20’s sparked an ongoing curiosity of figuring out what it takes to give life another go when you’re down and out. She enjoys exploring complicated subjects like divorce, death, and family relationships.

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