“Hole in it”

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose4 Comments

he says, seated on his knees in the high red stool, belly pressed to the edge of the gray counter. My son who has graduated from single words to third person omniscient: Theo climb chair, Theo peel orange, Theo look out window, points to this strange, broken piece of toast I am wincing from the toaster to his plate. We … Read More

Dear Fritz Guest House,

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose8 Comments

I sleep the sleep of seagulls. Sucked-out shell and salt. I fold my wings in and tuck my head under like the idea of a ship and slip along the surface of time. It has taken 41 years to prepare this body for living. Beside my bed the blown-over trees seem to be aching with every arm they have for … Read More

Dear Henry,

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose8 Comments

What has it cost you to love me? Sentry to this sanctum, you station yourself each night between my sleep and the door. There will be no surprises on your watch. Insistent on deference, you have kept one step behind me with your jolly, lopsided skip, refused the front seat, denied the bed’s hierarchy for more than eleven years. Together, … Read More

Dear Poem,

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose2 Comments

Theo and I sit on the loveseat, my body a parenthesis enclosing the small exclamation of his. We study the six spider webs on the other side of our dividing glass that seem to hold our home together. This is what it is like to be inside of you dew suggesting diamonds all along the improbable silk of your weave … Read More

The Word is the Way

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose, The life poeticLeave a Comment

We all walk our own paths to discover heaven on earth. My portal has always been poetry. At the borrowed retreat house, I place the blue mug on the red counter, lay the dog bed down. How little it takes to make a house a home. As each turn in the travel reveals a new landscape rising up, I recognize … Read More

Living Below the Radar

Sage CohenSage poetry and proseLeave a Comment

Excerpted from “Living Below the Radar,” published on newssip. My father taught me how to drive, how to swing a tennis racquet, that when you are given extra change at the cash register, you always return it. Together, through his patience of repetitive testing, we letter-pressed an entire vocabulary of synonyms and antonyms into the pulpy paper of my teenage … Read More