Sarah Wilson's Poetry

Who?
Whose
memories are home made preserves
sweet and tart
with a taste of sublime wisdom?

The surprise of one unlikely word touching another
In shades of golden rust and blues
Sarah's poetry owl crys at night tearing silence asunder
shocking and beguiling us with taboos.

Her small town people really take the cake.
Pictures and words are infused in our mind with her torch
as we wend our way down to her dock on the lake.
Her captain is not by the boat but sitting quietly on the porch.

Sarah offers us tea in a most genteel way and then
sails us on a wind so swift we are balloons in a Nor'easter
catching a branch to linger and watch the stranger than fiction
before we're swept away
into another day
of expected surprise.