Sunrise

Clenched fingers hold time

The mind cannot release.

Fear of loss, already past

Holds thrall over

A free life.

The hurt is past

Hope remains

Letting go, letting go, letting go

The sun rises on a new day.

Memory

A poem for a wistful sort of day. . .

Memory

Memories wash over me

Foamy waves against my feet,

Calling me deeper in the marrow sea,

Away from the bustle and buildings of my board walk.

I carry papers with me

Of parents and friends and family and times.

They give me identity, they are a map--

Letters of introduction, explanation:

A warning.

The riptide sucks me down,

Papers float around me

I gather them, damp and precious.

Shiver in the breeze, holding them to dry.

To swim against the tide

Takes more than I am.

Somehow I'm always spit back to the shore

To walk the lonely beach and feel the sand burn my soles.

Sara David Excerpt: At the Studio

Hi! My novel is called Sara David. It's a mystery starring Sara Leslie and her former boyfriend and business partner, David Stonard. In this excerpt, they are at David's woodworking studio/retail shop, and Sara is going home for dinner with her beloved husband, Steve. Dave is seeing her off.

Are you taking off?"

"Don't sound so hopeful. Yes, I'm just trying to figure out how to get the bags into the car."

Dave looked down at her. "You could. . .carry them? Or maybe you want me to volunteer?" She smiled too big, then looked down and kicked her toe on the cement floor. Dave mussed her hair as he went by. "Only because I have to get the bike down anyway. Steve wouldn't let you get away with this."

"He doesn't have to. He has you to do it for him."