Tag: memory

Night Sounds

Sarah Russell1 Comment

My poem “Night Sounds” was just published by Storyteller Poetry Review in their “Magical, Mystical and Supernatural” series. Thanks to Sharon Knutson, editor. Happy Halloween!

Night Sounds

She tiptoes to the garden
on cricket nights to visit beings
busy in the grass, sycamore and willow,
hidden except for a swoosh, or chortle,
or pounce and small scream.

This night, she settles herself
on a stone in shadows, watches
moonlight tremble through leaves,
breathes moss, larkspur and clover.
Her fingers play with the hem
of her nightie, and she shivers.

Soon, she hears the wind chime cadence
of fairies dancing. The moon casts
a wildflower path to a clearing,
but the sounds drift ahead, out of reach.
She fears she’ll be lost and returns
to her stone in the garden.

Inside her house are loud voices
and sobs and the thud of something
falling. But she hears only the tinkling fairies. 
She knows someday they’ll find her 
and bring her to another garden
where another girl, sitting on a stone,
will hold her hand.

The Wisdom of Wonderland

Sarah Russell6 Comments

My poem was featured this morning on Silver Birch Press. The prompt was “A Stroke of Luck.’ Such fine prompts from Silver Birch. My thanks to Melanie, the editor at Silver Birch.


The Wisdom Of Wonderland

“Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes just one second.”
Lewis Carroll

You looked a little dazed,
like you wondered if you belonged,
a little off-center, nursing a beer
on the patio of that bar in Midtown
where we went to shake out
the work week, before the skip
of the weekend. You looked like the kid
on a playground without a posse,
or a horse for that matter.
You think it was just you who fell
that afternoon. But I knew
I was seeing a lifetime. I just didn’t tell you
because I had to learn to trust first.

First published in I lost summer somewhere


Note: Turns out, that afternoon my future husband had just returned from Nepal. He was jet-lagged and suffering culture shock since he had spent much of the previous decade in Kenya, Malawi, and Nepal as a Peace Corps volunteer and trainer. I think I caught him in a weak moment, but our love has lasted 38 years, so we must have known something at a level neither of us truly understood at the time.

My Mother-in-Law Boby Clariana

Sarah Russell14 Comments

Storyteller Poetry Review has just published 5 of my poems about my wonderful mother-in-law. Some have been published before; some are first-timers. My thanks to editor Sharon Knutson for this opportunity to share an extraordinary life.

https://stortellerpoetryreview.blogspot.com/2025/05/honoring-mother-in-law-part-2.html

Someone Else’s Memory

Sarah Russell13 Comments

My poem “Someone Else’s Memory” was published today at Writing in a Woman’s Voice. My thanks to editor Beate Sigriddaughter.

Pat and I sit drinking cocoa 
on a snow-clad December day.
Remember that Christmas Eve, 
she says, when we were young 
and went caroling with my cousins? 
I gave you my blue stocking cap 
you wound round and round 
your neck to stay warm.

And in a rush, I remember the night, 
the carols, that Bill sang loud 
and out of tune, my new, not-warm-
enough red coat, and her cap
I found years later in a crushed box 
on the closet floor, dirty from muddy boots 
and dust, wondered who it belonged to, 
how it wound up there—the cap I washed 
and reached out the car window to give 
to a homeless man, how he thanked me 
and put it on, wrapping it round and round 
his neck, grinning through broken teeth. 

Christmas Card

Sarah Russell12 Comments

My third Christmas,
Dad pulled the armchair
in front of the tree.
I sat on Mother’s lap
with my favorite book.
Her gold crepe dressing gown
had fake leopard lapels.
I wore a nightie with flounces
and ribbons. Dad set up
the tripod and flood lights,
focused the Argus C-3.
Mother began to read.
I nestled so close
I could hear her heartbeat.
She got to the part,
“More rapid than eagles
his coursers they came,…”
Dad had his shot,
turned the flood lights off.
Mother shut the book,
nudged me off her lap.

– Sarah Russell
First published in Vita Brevis
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