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Sarah Provost

Author

Inland, Thinking of Waves

See how the surf rears and recedes, spills and slides. Waves don't move forward, energy rises and falls, like the waves snapped into a rope connecting two people who stand some distance apart. So it only seems the earth slips back into the sea's embr [...]

An Incompleteness

haunts the best loved, half the true body missing most of the time. The way we walk alone, molding the air before us, cradling each other in our empty arms. 2 How deeply can you search a wound, and still call it healing? Making love, we say. As if we [...]

I Didn’t Mean To

Summer 1988 | Poetry

unbalance the flowers on their stems:
their brute grace fisted me silly. Now
I'm sodden as Sunday. Greeks
couldn't speak of my feelings, I'm a zoo baby.