drip drop
to needle beds below
broke down moon beam
brought enough
sun god
to beat you
to the finish line

where do you go?
-where the earth worms take me.
lips stained cha-cha cherry
fingers laced through
single strand
ghost beads
soak up soundless
sadness, fits like
a wet leather glove

cedars sip
rainwater pooled
by roots, so somber
sifting through D minor
chords, costs, condolences,
clever, cashmere sweater
drip drops off shoulders

where do you go?
-the love song,
where the cracked voice
sings softly of meat wagons
sometimes tar, sometimes honey

fingers through
your smile, touching
your ghost with heavy arms
birds of prey, feasting
on the meat of extra ribs
nothing to eat

she is always so hungry
unsatisfied, appetite of a Kodiak
giant eyes eat everything in sight

soberer never felt so horrid.

Silent Stories

Wow, lots going on in the world. Lots to process. I’ve been insanely busy with school and I’m ready to take a semester off but I’m so close to finishing this leg of my educational journey and have so much more to do. I’ve been spending a lot of quality time with my family. The kids and I were just blessed with seeing a family friend at an Atmosphere show in Washington D.C. and have walked the boardwalk in Virginia Beach admiring the lovely Christmas lights. I had a superb date with the handsome Ten who is half way through sixth grade. We are missing our previous life in Chicagoland but settling into Virginia, all is well and we’re kept busy with our daily rituals. I have a new collection of poetry out, Ant Hills, and I hope you’ll purchase a copy. It’s also available as a Kindle Book (which is free with an Amazon Print copy).

I also wanted to share my new online store, Silent Stories at Big Cartel, it’s stocked with a few things I’ve been making while I have free moments between scholarly obligations and motherhood duties. I hope you’ll browse and make a purchase or two. The handmade poetry books are my favorite thing and they are each very unique, personal, and precious. I’ve made 10 and sold the previous books I made, all proceeds went to fundraisers. I will be making shirts and jewelry to add after 2017 begins. Thank you for your continued support.


Support Art!

Hey all! Hope this finds you all happy, healthy, and in good company. I wanted to let you know that my collection of poetry, Ant Hills is available as a Kindle Book. It’s free if you’ve bought in print book. It’s also available at CreateSpace, under Ant Hills: Stories of Girls in a Group Home.

I also have a BigCartel Store opening on Nov. 25th, where I’ll have signed books, Bone/Tooth/Shell jewelry, Photography, and Art all in time for the holidays! Thank you for supporting me and supporting art in general. Love you, Sarah

Here are a few of the items that’ll be in my online store! Excited to share final products.

card-1Cards in sets of 3.

Card 2.png

Here’s the beginning of the Bone/Tooth/Shell Jewelry. Will have earrings as well.


Ant Hills @ Amazon

Hello all! I have a collection of poetry for sale, here is one way to make a purchase, through If you’d like the link to another way to purchase this then please let me know. I will have copies in my online store, which will be available November 25, 2016. The details and description of this book are in the available at Amazon. Many thanks for the support! Love, Sarah

Here is the cover of Ant Hills, please click on the photo for the link to Amazon, or click on Ant Hills: Stories of Girls in a Group Home.


Other Days

Hello All, I pray this poem finds you in good health and all of the love and happiness. I wrote/spoke a poem I’d like to share with you, this is about identity and American Society. Please feel free to share this. I have a collection of poetry available for purchase October 4th, 2016. I’ll have more details on this coming in the next two weeks. Thank you, Sarah


Domesticated Abuse


kansas became a state january 29th, 1861.
i was raised partially on
celebrating re-runs of the Wizard of Oz,
quietly whispering song of being lost
over rainbows,
trudging through the tedious task
of construction: foundation of concrete and constant conflict;
mother was nomadic, not with gypsy blood
father had deep roots, none had ever dug that deep, stubborn
for survival’s sake,

early childhood lessons in tough love.

we watched yellow brick roads become walls
housing our counted sorrows on
a television set, centered between twin windows
blinking like eyes that squinted through the early morning sun.
we’d begin our mornings with great expectations,
returning with pockets of lint and disappointment

in our house made entirely of echoes everything was always displaced,
water rings sat on night stands, stains from sleepless weeks
insomniacs hammered peep holes in farmhouse wall paper,
showcasing everything but naked ladies dancing,
that’s what 80’s horror flicks were for, misogyny was reel
and real was the fear that filtered
my walks
from the bedroom to the bathroom
during late night rituals.

mother kept tall tales on dusty shelves, thick spines
of stories softly read to a tribe of children they’d learned to love hating;
raised on splitting atoms and siren songs,

reminding me women can also love with hard kisses and furious rage
consuming, father wore his anger like medals of honor,
heavy on his chest. if the flies on the walls of our house of echoes
could scream they would tell you everything.
those years
slipped through rotten floorboards,
mixed by tiny fingertips into mud pies
pushed back into earth, pressed into plots
spots deep under our feet, watered seed
sprouts to feed future
need-our house of echoes will always be rebuilt
over and over again,
passed on to
future generations
like heirlooms.

Capital Hill briefing on Violence Against Women Act in Indian Country

IN the link above you will find current information regarding the Violence Against Women Act, and resources for Indigenous Women in Indian Country.