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My writing


The last tendrils of sun slide off the sand into the sea
We pull in when the road gets rocky
and watch the cold smudges of mountains fade in the distance

The front doors rattle with the southerly
Your hands rest on the wheel
I fold up my legs in the passenger seat
We rock gently with every gust

You turn the key enough so we can listen to the radio
It’s stuck on the concert station, has been for months
I don’t know why you don’t get it fixed
we don’t like opera.

Should probably go for a walk, I guess, get some fresh air
Well, you should, at least. I don’t, anymore.

It’s dark now, but you’re going anyway
I remind you that the handle is broken, so
when you leave
please leave the door unlocked.

About writehandedgirl

Sarah is a writer who is passionate about social justice, feminism, politics, and cats. She is a columnist and poet and currently lives in Nelson. You can follow Sarah on Twitter (@_writehanded_) or read more of her writing at


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