top of page

189: Sandbags

I love when people say

Oh, it makes me well up.

I heard that today-

it makes me well up;

as if one’s feelings of

love or longing or grief

could rise in them like water.

As if we really are part ocean,

as if the levees broke,

as if naming it is a sandbag.

Maybe that’s why we cry

when it’s so good

and when it’s so bad,

because we’re welling up,

and because the ocean inside us

has to go somewhere.

I asked you what was heavy

and you said

being together

being single

my sick dog

voting rights

to-do lists

Afghan refugees

sick babies,

Jan term



feeling small

being in limbo

making decisions.

Should I be friends with this person?

Am I overthinking it?

Will Covid ever end?

We are welling up.

We are running over.

The ocean in us is rising.

Maybe that means we’re alive,

and maybe it means we’re afraid

and maybe it means

we aren’t the only ones.

You aren’t the only one.

I’m not the only one.

Tell me what’s heavy.

Feel free to well.

We can be each other’s sandbags.

Written by Sarah Speed // Writing the Good

sarah branding-hannah brii photo-69_websize.jpg

Hi, thanks for stopping by!

I'm Sarah (Are) Speed, the writer behind Writing The Good. I'm so honored you're here! To get more poems, follow @writingthegood on Facebook and Instagram! 

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
bottom of page