Sarah J. Sloat lives in Germany.
Muddying the flashlights, licking the knife, / the rain goes about its routine languidly. //Issue 23 · November 2015 · Poetry
I misplace my passport / and almost to the Danish border // I rush to turn my vitals into a story … I rush to turn my vitals into a story relevant for crossings.Issue 12 · June 2011 · Poetry
Rubber heels work best on wet / asphalt, and black is a color / that compliments abruptness. …Issue 07 · November 2009 · Poetry
Champagne is the rain-trickled taxi that ferries the bride across town. Not the body but the mind. Not the crown but the tiara. Not the prayer but the hallelujah.Issue 05 · June 2009 · Postcard Prose
The snow has kidnapped my opinions, / absconded with the list of wars. …Issue 04 · April 2009 · Poetry