The Poetry of Carrie Teresa Sage

Conversations with My French Amor

The light spreads over the floor
alone, on your bed with Pearl Jam on the stereo
we were entranced by the new feelings between us.
We started this, holding hands, trying to understand
why love is so overrated-
I keep you in a frame by my bed
to ease me when you are there and I am here
everyday I untie a knot
in this rope I have around my heart
to invade it with the love I have for you.

Young Angels

Who was it that stood on a ledge and said "I want to be a butterfly when I die
so I can come back and fly away"
Was it my mother? Did I read it somewhere?
You just looked at me and smiled, and said
"death makes angels of us all"
hearing you say that always sent chills up my spine
The day those words were written in my locker I felt even colder...
They replaced the picture that Ms. Garrison took of us in Art class
I knew you were gone, and leaving me behind was no problem


I kept that note, slept with it under my pillow
I thought about it all the time,
you came back again, making that note true, never thought we would be angels
we were too young
now you come in my dreams
with your poetic expressions and uncomprehensive language;
I don't understand you.
You try and take me with you back to where ever you are now.
You beckon me, needing me for shelter, one last time.

Emotion

Overcome by any powerful emotion--
mental or psychological process that restrains or surpresses
a feeling
I broke free.
Put that which was carried asunder;
finally free from my burden
I have released my heart
Now for my mind
I make the plea.


The art of calculation can't even surpress
nor solve this twisted equation
with an intense, eager interest
affection exists in any condition you and I have
this connection of ties--its simply,
sentimental devotion.

Night Griever

The night is sultry
and yielding to this vivid dream
that lingers above my bed
emotions of you are elusive and fresh in my mind.


Focusing on this surreal reality, I fell
upon a time in my life that is bright
like the sublime presence of moonlight--
your presence is still magnetic, even after
several years, the way the sun always made your blonde hair
look auburn.
Longing for you
is no longer easy,
monochrome visions of us and our summer watermelons
as I stand here throwing candy hearts
over your grave.

The Visitor

1.
Driving out of your way
mischievously smiling as your feet top the steps
the knock--
always made my heart swell and my stomach lean on one side
you were never supposed to be there
whether he said so or she asked you not to,
you still came, and I still let you in
you were always coming around, maybe it was that quarter we threw in the pond
at Natural Bridge working its mojo on us--
after all, we made a promise.


2.
Now you do not come, and the door knob is dusty,
it's my turn to visit;
you will be expecting me
and waiting there in the field,
underneath your name.

News of the Day

Dust rises above the railroad,
the trail your bike leaves behind clouds the summer sky,
spray paint here and there-
like artists, we graffittied our best,
up and through the woods,
I can't give this away
our path from friendship-to-love-friendship again
rushing through me is the news of the day-
May 28, 99' with the hands of time
at six o five
It breaks my heart to feel this and remember
only five years ago I kissed you,
and now five years since,
they're burying you
I know I can go down Vandola Road
and still visit you-
only now you'll have nothing to say-
You're there beside me
in this picture
I have framed
With that eternal smile on our faces
only you've made me cry one last time
even after so long
no more summer sun and watermelon seeds for us,
the sun has set now
my friend, my first,
and now only a memory
may your heart rest easy--

There Used to Be Lilies

They tell me there were Easter Lilies there.
When Papa S. would spray them down
I followed--
trudging behind dragging my pajama gown
in the dew


Only three feet high,
the lilies and I saw eye to eye.
She said the Trapeze was my favorite.
Powder me, and put me away for the afternoon
No one could stop it--
me from growing up,
you from growing old.


Do you remember Sloopy Dog?
When you rocked me
while singing to me
it must have been
breath taking
like miracles.
I only wish there was more of you left to hold.


Sixteen years gone, I found you
through winding back roads
and small towns.
You were there where they said you'd be.
There you rested
your stone glaring back at me
weeping was inevitable.


The lilies are gone
but you wrote it all down for me
always I will think of you
and how hard it is
knowing that you don't open the door
for me anymore.

Coming Home from a Dream

Running as hard as she could go
no one said it was going to be easy,
while it had its "trials"
I kept asking, is it worth all this?


Covering all the same ground
it was time to expand out
into a new area,
some place foreign to my heart
Hoping the will of being the superior
my parents had molded into me
would be enough--
but it wasn't.


Falling to my knees I asked him to help me.
I begged like I never had before.
Despair crawled over me
filling my heart with disappointment.
I shut the door where I had burnt "midnight oil"
just nights before.
As fast as I could go--by the great plains, through the crops in Arkansas;
into the mountains of Tennessee--


I cried when I saw
"Welcome to North Carolina",
I was finally home.
I drove so hard I forgot
what I was running from
and the dream
I had come so far for.

"1957 Moorefield Bridge Road"

Winter time is here.
Thump-loud and shaking the whole house
I heard you.
I smiled with the sound of metal scraping the logs of wood
that you filled the stove with.


Sizzling and yet too quiet on the other end of the house
I heard her slaving over our morning meal.
not that it was that far to that end--
our small country home was no Buckingham Palace.
They always wanted me to be warm, inside and out.


Spring time is here.
Shaking the dew off the news
we talked over plans for the mall while you read.
getting into the car the smell of daffodils was dominant in the yard.


Summertime is here.
kids laughing in Shan-gri-La
pool water, candy, and hotdogs.
every kid's summertime dream.
Grandma patched that shirt 40 times, still
you always wore the shoulders out
vacuuming away the sandbox and dirty feet residue.


Fall is here.
leave raking is always necessary.
rainy days and no place to go--nothing to do but stay up
late nights watching Knots Landing and Dallas.


A new year is here.
there is still fire burning and breakfast.
There will always be dew and leaves to rake.
But--
the kids are all grown up now
if only with my college education I had learned
how to stop time
from aging the two of you.
I don't come as often as I want to.
The weekends get shorter and the Christmas' are too few.
The memory aches like a knot under the ball of my foot.
When I hug you I wish to fall backward into 15 all over again.
Back into years before, back into being with you.

Grandaddy

"Better late than never"
was what you said.
Your heart was ready.
You spoke and people listened,
you smiled and their hearts sang.


Reflections in the sun as the water sparkled,
I held your soda ready to assist.
Nine years old and already I worshiped you.


Watermelon summers with you on the porch
the smell of fresh cut grass filled the air.
Your garden rests now. The unplowed rows rise up and fall.


Within these walls this house holds everything about you.
Your smell, your aura, your pride.
Awake at night, each crackle of light I search.


Old sheds and cars rust and rot
trees grow up in familiar paths
I will wait for you,
until you find me.

© Carrie Teresa Sage