Miriam Sagan is the author of over thirty books of poetry, fiction, and memoir. She is a two-time winner of the New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards as well as a recipient of the City of Santa Fe Mayor's Award for Excellence in the Arts and a New Mexico Literary Arts Gratitude Award. She has been a writer in residence in four national parks, Yaddo, MacDowell, Gullkistan in Iceland, Kura Studio in Japan, and a dozen more remote and interesting places. She works with text and sculptural installation as part of the mother/daughter creative team Maternal Mitochondria (with Isabel Winson-Sagan) in venues ranging from RV parks to galleries. She founded and directed the creative writing program at Santa Fe Community College until her retirement.
Hypochondria
Beneath my ribs
inside the bone cage
a terrarium of topsoil
oak root and branches
imitate networks, veins, arteries.
Inside me
serrated fingered leaves fall
but not till spring
acorns ping
forests house truffles, caterpillars,
gall wasps
devour the humous
that once was me.
Birds nest, fledgelings
fly out of my mouth
in augury.
Whatever I’ve called myself
doesn’t matter
any more.
Containment
The small cell
with one window and
one long boring tattered
paperback,
but no chocolate or coffee,
is like a well-apportioned grave:
bed, sink, toilet
although only the living
need these.
So what’s the point?
I’ve set the scene
but without action,
plot points, or denouement.
In this way
it is not only like a coffin
but freedom.
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