Sarah Sadie
CONTACT:
P.O. Box 542
Portage, WI 53901
Website: https://aninvitingspace.substack.com
BIO:
Sarah Sadie believes community needs creativity and creativity needs community, and we all need new stories. She’s a poet, writer, and creative visionary who lives on a continental divide in a small town in Wisconsin. Winner of the Lorine Niedecker Prize, the Posner Prize and a Pushcart Prize, she grows tomatoes in buckets and teaches and facilitates workshops and classes with the aim of helping creatives find their new stories and next steps. From 2009-2014 she co-edited and published Verse Wisconsin with close friend and colleague Wendy Vardaman. Her own poetry has been published widely and collected into five books including a letter press edition from Red Dragonfly Press. A member of the Transformative Language Arts Network and the International Listening Association, she can be found online holding An Inviting Space on Substack where she shares reflections, invitations and prompts with her readers and hosts an ever growing circle of creative practitioners, artists and writers.
PUBLICATIONS: (an incomplete list):
Quiver (a letter press chapbook), Red Dragonfly Press, 2009
Given These Magics, Finishing Line Press, 2010
Somewhere Piano, Mayapple Press, 2012
Do-It-Yourself Paper Airplanes, Five Oaks Press, 2015
We are traveling through dark at tremendous speeds, Lit Fest Press 2016
Seeds from the Dream Catalog, Green Dragon Books, 2020
Poetry
Worth
Turns out, a book of poems isn't worth
the cost of an organized cake, the effort
of folding chairs unfolded, the drive through rain.
How many times the same refrain and again:
women should send their poems out like men--
Easy as pie. Piece of cake. Said no one who ever baked.
I send my poems out all right.
Like candy at Halloween, cake at a bake sale.
I bury them in the backyard and pray for rain.
Come on over to my kitchen. Cake's in the oven.
It's raining outside but it's warm in here.
Turns out, that's my poem.
Turns out, that's all my poems, ever.
Cake, from scratch, and almost done.
It's raining outside but it's warm in here.
From Do-It-Yourself Paper Airplanes
Love Muddies the Water
Love muddies the water,
troubles it like we hoped God
would with his big stick,
turns what was quick
and cold and free to clot
and mire. I love you. Glub, glub.
Caught in too many tangles made
of old bones, old blinks,
no one knows what to do
with this bad star, drug
trip from which we never return
(not to mention the birds)
and rainbows at surprising angles.
From Somewhere Piano