Poetry by Yael D Sherman

You write what you know
like the Eskimo
so many words for snow

I know tired
exhausted
sleep deprived

the mountain I can't summit
the glass sliding surface
of my thoughts
time and memory slip away
there's no tracking in the wilderness
it's snow all the way around

I know bone-tired
my body collapsing against
the protests of my mind
and giving in, curling on the couch
freezing in the winter of sleep-loss

I know sweet sleepiness
the baby girl snuggled on my chest
drifting in and out of igloo dreams together
shared breath
across both chests
her plump arms around my neck

I know hard tired
Getting out of bed
to shower, eat, prepare
go to work, another day
go go go
no no no

Push through
Push through the exhaustion, the tired eyes
the deadened mind, the shaky legs
And go
carry the ache of exhaustion
and go
No rest
not yet

I know tired
I'm walking in the blizzard
I know each wind, each snowflake
Promising rest, the snow numbs
Stop and be still
Give in




Married Life

You know that I love you, right?
I mean love
in the way I want to tell you about the thing I read
and I sent the article on different kinds of tribalism 
dividing our country so we could discuss it
and how I want to share the photo I took of our adorable
baby girl
I mean love, in the fact that you took care of both kids
while I worked and also folded and put away the laundry
you remembered to get the colds out of the dryer
(by which I mean the darks, which we don't say 
because it sounds vaguely racist)
and how we did the warms together and made the bed
before settling to watch the final two episodes of season 2 of Continuum
I mean love, in the way we made love
during nap-time and didn't worry about waking the kids
and then right after, you threw on clothes because our six year old
was trying to get into our bedroom and had a boo-boo
while I lay in bed and langoured
I mean love
the way that you called the plumber and made the appointment
and went home, missing work twice, to take care of it
and how you planned, while you were at home, to make dinner for us
And how you made the list on Sunday, so I could grocery shop
I mean love, how we talked about Continuum and what the season finale meant
until sleep claimed us both
I mean love, 
how you let it go
when I got mad at you for four hours 
over that one thing you said
after I apologized once
(I'm sorry it took so long for me to get over it)
I mean love, the way you see the best
and the worst in me
the way you forgive 
my crankiness and craziness
returning to me
as I return to you





I hate that lofty shit
give me the grit
not the slippery and slick
 
fuck your exalted language
full of hot air
rising above all that is there
till it recedes, green dots from trees 
 
give me the ground
one tree, hunkered down
roots exposed
give me the dirt
and I'll mulch it

​

Bio: Yael D Sherman has published in Role Reboot, thirdspace, Feminism at The Movies, Exposing Lifestyle Television, and numerous non-profit publications.  She has a doctorate in Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, and is raising two young children with her husband. 

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