(Almost) 10 Questions for Sage Ravenwood

- By Marissa Perez

If you siphon hatred through skin and bones
Long enough, if you gut punch your heart
Hard enough, in between all the layers of
Who you are, you find
The will to live.
—from “Scraped from a Boning Knife”, Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021)

Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
I came into poetry rather recent (later than most), so that would be "Bullet Tithe" published in Glass Poetry —Poets Resist almost two years ago. "Bullet Tithe" was written the day of the El Paso, Texas shootings. Like everyone else at that time, I was trying to come to terms with the shock and overwhelming loss we were witnessing; At the same time I worried if it was my story to tell. In the end, I do believe poets are detail driven to write what they witness, to write life as they see it unfolding. I tried to convey the horrifying aspect of the shooting itself, detailing the raw emotional carnage and utter sense of vulnerability; to place a sense of humanity where the gun was aimed, hoping in some small way to encourage change. To this day, "Bullet Tithe" still haunts me with every shooting I hear about in the news.

What writer(s) or works have influenced the way you write now?
Too many, but off the top of my head Joy Harjo, Clementine Von Radics, Joseph Fasano, Devin Gael Kelly, Diannely Antigua, Ilya Kaminsky, Brigit Pegeen Kelly. With each and every one of these authors is a willingness to dig below the surface of what we see and feel. Although that could be said about most poets, they go one step further in that you’re not just a witness, you’re right there with them experiencing what they feel. For me they made poetry accessible in its raw form. In the end I needed that permission. A lot of my poetry stems from a survival standpoint and wears a heavy shroud of trauma. These few and so many others of today’s poets make you feel as if you have a place in the world and you’re not alone in whatever background or life you come from. In the end it’s not even about permission, it’s the realization—you’re both the witness to your own pain and part of something bigger; you’re more than the sum of words.

What inspired you to write this piece?
"Scraped from a Boning Knife" arrived with the question, how deep do we feel things? Is it carved in our bones, does it become part of our personality? From there, it was a matter of naming skin layers down to bone and questioning; can we cut out those parts of ourselves we no longer want? Naming a series of things in order is a method people with trauma or PTSD use to bring themselves back around to the present moment. Which if I’m honest, is exactly how "Scraped from a Boning Knife" began. This was one of those life affirming poems where I took over the reins of my own pain.

Is there any specific music that aides you through the writing or editing process?
I was so delighted to see this question! Mainly because the assumption is deaf people can’t or don’t enjoy music. So I wanted to take a moment to address that assumption—we do.

Each of us have our own way of going about listening to music. Some of us are still able to pick up Bass or heavy metal notes and sometimes it’s purely reading lyrics to get a sense of a song. Mostly, music is felt. We pick up on vibrations and echoes. I actually think deaf individuals are the better dancers because we feel the music so intensely. Myself, I have a pair of Bass headphones that allow me to hear music by pulling the Bass from whatever I’m listening to. Albeit at full volume but I’ll take it. Having said, I don’t usually listen to music when I write. Part of being deaf is everything is more visual; I lean into that aspect to write. I’m also late deaf so I do have some sound memory to fall back on, even so there’s a concerted effort to bring my missing sense into my writing. Afterward is when the music comes into play. Lately, I’ve been delving into Myrkur, Chelsea Wolfe, Emma Ruth Rundle, Ulver, Incubus, anything really that puts me into a different mindset. Writing raw the way I do takes a lot of mental gymnastics. I’m fortunate in that I can put on a pair of headphones for a temporary reprieve from my mindset and the silence.

Do you have any rituals or traditions you do in order to write?
Everything is written on my iPad. For some reason it’s a freer mode of writing for me, I’ve tried handwriting or simply typing up something in Word on my laptop and it feels off somehow. If I use my laptop I’m prone to stare off into the woods (there’s an incredible view from my dining room table) or get distracted. With my iPad, it’s compact and I’ll sit curled up somewhere I can get lost completely. On more than one occasion, I’ll burn pinon or have a fire burning in the pellet stove. Those scents smell safe and warm to me.

What are you working on currently?
Life. On a more serious note, I just finished a poem centering around the Red Dress Movement (MMIW—Missing Murdered Indigenous Women). I wrote about an ugly truth in simple terms; with enough detail to make it heavy but not so raw that it can’t be stomached. It’s something that’s close to my heart; for me this is going to be another "Bullet Tithe" poem where it stays with me long after. There’s always more poem ideas brewing though. Currently I’m working on an idea with Manchurian Cranes, vintage wallpaper, and entrapment. Don’t ask. I have no idea sometimes where my mind goes. You follow the muse down whatever rabbit hole she jumps in. There’s usually an ongoing theme with most of my writing though, a dare to look deeper, to change places and reality, to live in whatever truth that’s yours.

Is there a city or place, real or imagined, that influences your writing?
I wouldn’t say influences, but Florida shows up in quite a few poems. I’ve written about my childhood centered around my parents and growing up there for nine years. My poem, "When Hunger", published in the Temz Review, is self-explanatory on how a place can hold the key to a closed door in our minds. Some places stay with you but turn out to be never again scenarios. Florida is one of those things I’m trying to expel from memory. Not to say Florida doesn’t have pleasant people or bearings for someone else, for me it’s a far different story.

What are you reading right now?
Three books at the moment. I tend to flip between books to keep an author’s perspective fresh in my mind, especially with poetry so it doesn’t begin to sound redundant.

Andrea Gibson’s Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns, Ada Limón’s The Carrying, and Joy Harjo’s anthology of first people’s poetry Living Nations, Living Words.


SAGE RAVENWOOD is a deaf Cherokee woman residing in upstate New York with her two rescue dogs, Bjarki and Yazhi, and her one-eyed cat, Max. She is an outspoken advocate against animal cruelty and domestic violence. Her work can be found in Glass Poetry—Poets Resist, The Temz Review, Contrary, trampset, and The Familiar Wild: On Dogs and Poetry (Sundress Press anthology) and is forthcoming from Grain Magazine and Pittsburgh Poetry Journal.