An evening with Zoloft is mellow.
It’s Otis Redding and a glass of wine.
A quiet movie and the laughter shared between
two lovers.
It’s a poem and a story
and it’s the way words string together harmoniously,
to make music.
An evening without Zoloft is chaos.
It’s Rage Against the Machine with a machete
and then it’s Richard Marx with tears.
It’s laughter and bursting between it’s sobs.
It’s Elmer chasing Bugs Bunny and
then it’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
It’s cotton candy kicked across the living room
because I wanted chocolate.
This is my manic, anti-anxiety drug addicted mind.
I do not function without it.
I am not me without it.
and with it…
who am I really?

Under this rock I search for doodlebugs.  Under this rock I search for you.
Do you remember how the spiders ran across our hands before everything was scary?
Do you remember the way that big dog hugged so well?
In my palm I hold this rolled up doodlebug.  I think of you and how good you were
at hiding.
I can no longer hold the spider.  I am no longer fearless.
Do you remember how the big dog suffered from the same loss?
Destined for junkyard life and affection from hands through fences.
Sometimes, I forget I wasn’t alone.
This little bug reminds me because it is still you.
I set the tiny globe body back under its rock.
It’s the most beautiful there.
I’m sorry if I ever left you feeling alone.
I’m sorry that I can no longer hold the spiders.

The Peacock and Pink Floyd


They want to know why you ruined them.
Why you blasted The Wall so often
in your grim and dreary
that the tornadoes in my nightmares
became soundtracked and more in sync
than the Wizard of Oz.
Hello hello hello,
is there anybody in there?

A beautiful blue bird tattooed to a forearm.
A trashy latina inked across an upper arm.
A lifetime of fucked up etched into a brain.
They play poker together.
Sing along to Wish You Were Here
and wish I was there,
To fix you.
But you are broken
and I am broken
and now we share that,
the same old fears.  




Sarah Frances Moran is a stick-a-love-poem-in-your-back-pocket kind of poet. She thinks Chihuahuas should rule the world and prefers their company to people 90% of the time. Her work has most recently been published in Blackheart Magazine, Red Fez and The Bitchin’ Kitsch. She is Editor/Founder of Yellow Chair Review.


Personal Website: www.sarahfrancesmoran.com



Cover Photo: Sharon Brogan (https://www.flickr.com/photos/sbmontana/)