Mia Sara: “Unlucky Charms” & “The Go Between”

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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: wheretofindmiasara.tumblr.com

*****

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?

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About the author

Mia Sara

Mia Sara

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: wheretofindmiasara.tumblr.com

  • http://www.jackgrapes.com jack grapes

    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

    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.

  • http://www.adeshkaur.com Adesh Kaur

    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.