I Bloom like Ginger Root. {Poem}


ginger flower

Morning, old friend, has fallen into trees,
collects in the forest’s corner like dust.

Rooting red earth, ginger blooms,
and so do I—petals yellow,

unfold for the sun-sprawled sky.
There’s a boiling beneath my thread-thin roots—

earth’s call to be unburied, rediscovered.
Wind whispers to each of my leaves

in a language I don’t recognize.
I dig my feet deeper,

stretch out my greening stems
in search of words.



She Was the Ocean. {Poem}


Author: Sarah Escue

Assistant Editor: Hilda Carroll/Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Patrick McNally/Flickr

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Sarah Escue

Sarah Escue is an undergraduate at the University of South Florida. She is the Assistant Editor at The Adirondack Review and the editorial intern and social media manager at Saw Palm. She is the recipient of fellowships from Writers in Paradise and the Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets, and winner of the Bettye Newman Poetry Award in 2015 and 2016. Her poems appear, or are forthcoming, in Gulf Stream, The Mindful Word, and Milk Journal.