OUR SARAH
On the night you were born the snow had fallen all day,
Drifting, walling us into our house on the hill,
And since we knew that you were on your way
We waited and prayed for the plow which did not come.
As dark approached we thought to ride the toboggan
To meet with a cab on the road at the foot of the Heights.
Of course the plow did finally come in time
But that is how I think of your arrival:
A flight straight into our hearts over whispering white.
And that is why I think you were the child
To try a skateboard, parachute out of a plane,
Ride on your Yamaha into the White Mountains,
Run your half-marathons and keep up
With your fast-peddling husband on mountain bikes
And hundred mile road races, and why
You still keep moving, living life on the fly.
Leave a Reply