sarah tate

Sarah Tate is a poet and writer from Partlow, Virginia, where she enjoys taking long walks by the trees and reading good books on the porch. Her work often meditates on the embodied world, eternal reflections, and the intersection between philosophy and ordinary life. Currently, she is pursuing a master’s degree in English from Liberty University, where she is also an editor and contributor for the literary press LAMP. Besides Solum, her work has been featured in Amethyst Review, Calla Press, Heart of Flesh, and elsewhere.

wednesday’s ash

Hooked rug covered 

with upturned sunlight. 

Blots like the butts

of cigarettes,

brown floorboards wet

with the verge of June. 

Three slanting trees

weighed low by the noon, 

myrtles near the fences. 

Just seen, as long as 

forever is, by the light 

of the late afternoon. 

The music of a cello

floats along the heads

of graves. It will be

the same grief flying

when peonies sprout 

beneath the names. 

Rows of dawn fan out, 

collect like coins 

in the offering plate. 

Here, there, wistful we

are, always, for a new

and different world.  

Read more of Sarah’s work in Solum Journal Volume IV.