The Poems
Unlucky, Between
by Mia Sara
Unlucky Charms
Yesterday, because it was drizzling
I put on my oiled canvas coat.
It’s green with a tartan lining, and still
smells as rancid as the day I bought it in
Scotland, at a shop that sold guns
and tackle, and woolen caps
to keep the head warm. It has pockets
deep enough to hold a brace of pheasant.
I was almost out the door
to rush my daughter to kindergarten,
when my sister called, needing money.
The kids. The rent. The husband.
I dropped the check in the mailbox on my
way to the car.
Later, standing at the back of the kid-colored room,
watching them sing in a circle,
fighting the urge to duck and run,
I shoved my hands into the pockets of
my green coat, finding the Scottish
coins I never got rid of,
and remembered a time when
I made myself so unhappy
that I was freed from the grasping of others.
Safe in drab misery, inconspicuous,
thumbing my nose at the jealous gods,
the frost in August, the bitter bed.
But I have never hidden for long.
They always sniff me out,
run me to ground,
open their dripping jaws to claim their share.
I watched my own beautiful girl,
her nest of honey curls,
her mouth wide in song, pitch perfect,
and I gripped my heavy coins,
hard in my palm.
Unlucky charms against
my too lucky life.
_____________________
The Go Between
I saw his face,
and there lost sight,
of any bridge before,
or the cool shallow bliss
of a world without loss.
It turns out, I was never alone by the fire,
and what’s between us,
swallows me whole
and spits me out
where the world began.
To see him crouching
on the lip of the night,
tracing constellations with
his outstretched hand;
I give up all my questions,
to answer his.
I have stitched his first secret
to the hem of my skirt.
I say, “All in good time.”
But his time is still sweet,
while mine is all wasted,
sitting on my hands.
I say, “Work the blue chord
until the page bleeds the horizon,”
foaming at the mouth.
Who can teach how
to draw a conclusion?
I say, “There never was
the original sin,
only the original song.”
And if I know the words,
why am I humming?
If my life spins, on the hinge
of his dreams, (cracking wise,
dumb-founded)
what do I mean when
I say “Never enough love?”
One son, one sky,
one shadow, yearning.
The first seen, the first unseen;
I am just his go-between
this life, and the next.
In it for the kicks,
and the one true glance;
the giddy oasis
of his sleeping cheek.
Needed, not wanted,
the readiest fool.
The last one standing
in the path of the juggernaut.
If child is the father of man,
What is the mother?
And who do I think I am,
when he turns his back
and walks away from me?
Mia Sara is an actress and poet living in Los Angeles. Her work has been published in Cultural Weekly, The Kit Kat Review, Forge, The Dirty Napkin, and others. For more please visit: http://wheretofindmiasara.tumblr.com/
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Comments (19)
jack grapes
December 6th, 2012 at 5:12 PM
The day has barely begun, all the daily dailies stretched out before me, and for a few moments, Mia Sara's poems stop me in my tracks. Such foolishness this life, yet how we plod along, pulling poems from the trees as we pass and admit that without them, we would either plod into nothingness, or stop plodding at all. These are the kind of poems I pluck from the tree and give thanks to the poet who grew them. "Unlucky, Between" is so full of lines and images that knock me off course, or perhaps, back on course. And the "too lucky life." Face it, folks, with all our trespasses and tragedies, our lives are just too damn lucky, we barely deserve the plod, much less the poem. But thankfully, we get them, poems like Mia's to send us back into the world, rushing our kids to kindergarten, paying the rent. And the second poem, "The Go Between," what can one say when the brain is cracked open and reassembled into words and language that grip the heart with love. To Mia: you're one amazing poet. Please, plod on. Please, provide the sweet fruit for the bitter bed of our lives.
Julie von Zerneck
December 7th, 2012 at 4:22 AM
I love the story telling of Mia Sara's poetry. I read each of them and I am there. I smell the oiled canvas coat with the deep pockets. I hurts so bad when I think of having to 'duck and run' and that 'They always sniff me out, run me to ground.' And there is also joy in her words; joy that spins me around and makes me laugh. “There never was the original sin, only the original song.” Thank you Mia, for giving it all to me.
Adesh Kaur
December 7th, 2012 at 10:37 PM
mia,
you are my most favoritest poet in this whole universe. (spell check did not like "favoritest, oh well.) i am gut-ouched every time i read one of your poems. i mean . . .
"I give up all my questions,
to answer his.
I have stitched his first secret
to the hem of my skirt."
jeez louise, mia, thank you. i will study your words like code, eyes closed, my fingers tracing your stitchery.
Nancy Lenehan
December 10th, 2012 at 12:29 AM
me too…me too..
i got the anvil of remorse goin'..
lovely..
Ann Harper Reed
December 10th, 2012 at 2:52 AM
Wow, such a poet. Such a powerful way with language. Such the capacity to capture the light and the smell of life and the fabric of the moment. To the strength of Mia's voice – when I hear her work, it feels like I'm experiencing the writing of an long-established poet, beloved for ages, and just now discovered by me. Such a treat.
Simon
December 10th, 2012 at 6:00 PM
Beautiful writing Mia.
Sean
December 10th, 2012 at 6:15 PM
Mia,
You are a gift. Your poems are amazing. They touch me in emotional ways. You are so connected.
I needed this today… to remember…
To remember there is hope…
To remember there is authenticity…
To remember there are people in this world not wholly disconnected from life.
When I get frustrated, confused, angry, and bitter about an uncaring world…
When I get drunk in order to spend time with my fools…
When I'm on the verge of giving up the hope that I so deeply want to grasp…
I read this… and it connects me to real life again…
I appreciate your art, Mia.
My art needs you.
Kelly
December 10th, 2012 at 7:29 PM
I love the first poem, and the evocation of the multiple lives we lead in our lifetimes. Also, "deep enough to hold a brace of pheasant" — yeah, that's a Scottish coat, alright.
Jeff Miller
December 11th, 2012 at 2:38 AM
Poem Unlucky Charms–Mia Sara
Thank you for the reminder that we all sometimes need to be lost and not found and away from the world,
and oh that we could be so forever welcomed back with a child's song and some coins found in an old coat. Simply–so well put.
amelia fleetwood
December 11th, 2012 at 5:10 AM
Mama Mia I read them over and over and feel the mother in all of us – the ache while mine sleeps next to me in bed now. Thank you so much for opening hearts and minds and flood gates
x
Roz Levine
December 11th, 2012 at 1:22 PM
Bravo to you, Mia. Two beautiful poems. The Go Between is particularly haunting; the last three lines, "And who do I think I am, when he turns his back and walks away from me?" are unforgettable; they reach deeply and profoundly to the core of who we are as mothers and as human beings when we are confronted by transition and loss, as we move from one phase of life to another, as we lose who we were and become who we are. Whether you live in New York City or Los Angeles, whether you find a home off the shores of some remote island in the South Pacific, whether you build a home in the rains forest of Ecuador, NEVER stop writing and sharing the beauty and wisdom of your words with the world.
CLAUDIA BENVENUTO
December 11th, 2012 at 7:43 PM
Mia, Mia, you possess an infinite array of those coins we find at different intervals that serve to churn the barrel of life's memories!!!
Never throw them away, never let a leprechaun bury them deep underground.
Your rainbow ride, your gold coins help us all to remain grateful.
Brava!!!
Mary Petrie Lowen
December 12th, 2012 at 5:37 AM
Such lovely poems! Thank you for introducing me to Mia Sara's beautiful voice, Cultural Weekly.
Joel Shearer
December 12th, 2012 at 4:46 PM
You have such a way with words, and after reading yours, I am left with none……….
Matthew
December 13th, 2012 at 1:18 PM
A daughter and a son, two poems. One full of memory, yours of hope and contraction as embrace and the other as in letting go and expansion. They both are like prayers, as all your poems are, beautiful prayers.
Karen Ross
December 13th, 2012 at 10:43 PM
Your poems touch me in the deepest way and remind me of my own inner struggles as a parent. The haunting "unlucky charms " in spite of the good luck life is such a beautiful way of speaking of your gratitude. You are a poet's poet and I will never tire of reading your words.
Lisa Segal
December 14th, 2012 at 3:41 AM
wow.
_love_ these . . . .
thank you poet,
thank you publisher.
Baz
January 7th, 2013 at 7:28 PM
Mia. you are. i want. i am. please. yes.
if only this comment could. but it could never.
thank you for your poetry. YOU are my favorite poet.
Dana
February 15th, 2013 at 3:30 PM
Having one son "The Go Between" really speaks to me. I admire how you have filled the poem with love and simultaneously emptiness. It speaks of longing without longing. It eliminates and illuminates the space between our false boundaries of self and other.
beautiful Mia!
Thank you!
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