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Robyn Sarah


We write on Time
until our rhyme
runs out,
until the chalk itself
has dwindled to a nub
and less than that,
a smudge of powder
on a fingertip,
a powder shed
upon the ground.

Our frail agency
in the world, this:
our brave chalk line,
our mark on Time

first firm, then skipping
like a vapour trail,
and soon enough rubbed out
by Time’s felt brush
in Time’s fell hand
(or by a celestial Thumb.)

What then can our intrepid cursive prove?
Still, let us make our rhyme a rhyme of love.

From Pause for Breath (Biblioasis Press, 2009).
Used here with the author’s and publisher’s permission.


Robyn Sarah was born in New York City to Canadian parents. She wrote and enjoyed poetry as a child and is now the author of nine poetry collections, two collections of short stories and a book of essays on poetry. Robyn is the poetry editor for Cormorant Books in Toronto, and lives with her husband in Montreal. Her most recent collection is Digressions: Prose Poems, Collage Poems, and Sketches (Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2012).



Post New Comment:
Very nice. I can sense my smallness and the humbleness of what I feel and think is not really important in God's plan, still necessary to record my existence. It is succinct.
Posted 01/07/2012 12:16 PM
The tone of this piece felt very Shakespearean--almost Biblical in a King James sense. Wonderful poetry! I'm ready for my new year!
Posted 01/01/2012 07:40 PM
Sarah, In between lots of family, I came in here for a glimpse of the poem for New Year's day. So glad I was amply rewarded. Reading you is a wonderful way to start the New Year. Cheers.
Posted 01/01/2012 02:05 PM

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