Three Poems by Sandra Kolankiewicz

by / 4 Comments / 24/08/2014

The Strangeness of Common Things

What can be spoken about but the
accidental consequences of
things well planned, past the point of comfort,

words unable to change the only
fact we would alter, a touch missing
its aim. I’m discussing the old

realization that I am not your
body, learned when I first perceived a
fist was attached to the end of my

arm. No better way exists to say
this at three in the morning, too far
from dawn and beyond the reach of your

exhausted sleep. Earlier today,
when I tore up the grass, its seeds spread
themselves farther than the wind could have

carried them. Inside, dishes undo,
laundry suffers mutely in colored
piles, the toddler always leaving the

room, one step ahead, one foot behind.
My thoughts are not your thoughts, floating there
in plasma. I don’t know whose they are.


Feeling the Future

For weeks, in various venues and

under diverse circumstances, I

have felt compelled to fall down on my

knees and pray.  Sometimes I am saying

thank you, others I exclaim about

mystery, but mostly I express

awe at what’s coming, as if my ear

were on the rail or my eye above

the yard like a hawk’s.  If I were to

pick a card from the deck, the Tower

would look back at me from the future,

struck by lightning, men tumbling from its

heights, a shock that can’t be prevented

nor understood until it’s over.

Even joy is hard on the system.

Try adjusting to perfection on

the bus ride to the underworld when

all you see are people you once knew,

bewildered and repeating themselves.


Office Politics


What does it matter that I struck the side

of my cage and bent my scissors?  I’m not


the first to look for a receipt and find

it gone!  How can I have forgotten my


tendency to mention the sky when I’m

short on theory, notice the lock on the


door only when I don’t like the meal.  Let

me tell you, little porcupine, today


I am more hog than hedge, given the long

winter.  I don’t have your defenses; all


I know to do is roll up in a ball.

How can we hatch plans for escape while


you keep rubbing against the keeper?









Ali is a Law undergraduate at the University of Portsmouth with an especial interest in Constitutional Law. He is a keen musician playing mandolin, guitar, drums and keyboards. He also enjoys writing music and poetry.