Poetry by Sarah G. Pouliot
We lounge on the ledge of your grandfather’s dock
with two poles and a punctured cup of crickets,
watching snow geese ascend in an arrow,
black-tipped wings slicing dawn,
bellies blurred in billows.
Saltwater taffy cements to our molars;
toes wiggle in ripples, the whip
of your translucent line cracking
Omena’s mirror—when I tell you,
“I’m afraid of heights but not falling.”
Catapult me in the air—
a diving gannet searching for sardines,
a leaping Devil Ray, the sway of an oak
surrendering to wind like the smoke
from your after-breakfast cigarette.
Falling is familiar:
a scraped knee and sideways bike,
a plugged nose and cannonball plunge,
the plop of your soaring bobber brushing
the water like a sloppy morning kiss.
Sarah G. Pouliot is a poet and editor from Titusville, Florida. She believes that poetry has the power to bring stillness and meditative reflection in the midst of life’s chaos, and she hopes that her writing can do this for you—even if only for a moment.
