But it’s after the rains
When things really happen
When the seams break open
Spilling forth
All that is pent up
When the ground swells
In uncontained revelry
Exploding with riotous voice
It’s after the rains
When the walls
Crumble in
And the very foundation of you
Slips back to mother earth
Only then
The true healing
The Spring of you
Can rise up greening
Beside the new rose
More vibrant than before
More alive
In boisterous ascent
With the wakening world




Sara Mathews     April 2017

I can see myself
On that sunny hill
Part of me
More than a shadow
Maybe a heartbeat dropped
In the twisted vine
The wild bramble
Caught to the hem
Of this long lost soul
A wisp of my breath
Still flutters the copper leaf
A trace of my step
Lingers soft
In the burnished pine
And I can hear myself
In the wooded glade
My whistle lives on
With the raucous jay
The notes suspended
All these days
Waiting
Waiting for my return





Sara Mathews     April 2017

Photograph by Martha Andrews Donovan

A wisp of broken morning
The stars still speak of night
The moon
A remnant memory
The clouds
A fleeting dream
And I
The solemn innocent
Bathed
In beginning light







Sara Mathews     April 2017