Sarah A. Letinger

Sarah A. Etlinger is an English professor who resides in Milwaukee, WI, with her family. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she is author of two chapbooks (Never One for Promises, Kelsay Books 2018) and the forthcoming Little Human Things (Clare Songbirds). In addition to poetry, interests include cooking, baking, traveling, and learning to play the piano. Find her poetry at and on Twitter at @drsaephd. 


The sky is smoky milk: it will rain later.
I’m thinking about the moon
and its tradition of memory
while we rehearse for evening,

for summer’s long dusks
when the grass hums in a green fermata
that stays as long as we want
and the air is filled with marbles
of birdsong,

rehearse for silence only summer
invites. Now we’re on the porch,
a piece of prairie grass in your teeth
draped lazily as your body over the steps.

Tonight the stars are heavy.
The sky bends under their weight.
We wait for rain, for tongues of wind
at the windows, stemming our wakefulness.