Sara Sage

Sara Sage has been published eighteen times, is the author of her own book, and winner of two poetry contests. Her earliest award came at seven years old. She graduated with a Bachelor's in English from Hollins University. She loves to discuss sobriety, mental health, trauma, and childhood. Her favorite types of media include experimental work and creative nonfiction.

Shower/Sacred Space

a.     the shower is the purest place
                                             that you conceptualize as a
                                             young child/ you bathe with
                                             a cousin, lather each others’
                                             hair with walmart soap, smear
                                             shaving cream into letters
                                             across the walls, force special
                                         bath-only barbies to play
                                             scuba divers/ your grandfather
                                             considerately pats you down
                                             with costco towels

b. you nearly shatter your left
                                             arm at ten / the doctors surround
                                             your meager bones to your bicep
                                             and your mother must shower you
                                             every other day / the sheer shame
                                             of her gracing your breast buds
                                             I’m trying to be quick / you know

c. a fistful of your hair, your red
                                             cheeks flat against the porcelain
                                             an essential virgin still/ a shadow:
                                             shh, stop whining. it’s fine.

d. during your trauma week, your
                                             wife takes all the showers with
                                             you/ she quietly washes the
                                             teal dye from your hair/ she 
                                             speaks softly I know, we’re 
                                             almost done/ she tries her best
                                             to reclaim your sacred hollow