Poems by Sahra Kuper
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Mount Liberty in March
by Sahra Kuper
Sahra lives near Stony Brook, a subterranean tributary stream in Boston, Massachusetts, that begins at Turtle Pond, winds its way under city streets, through neighborhoods, along a railroad line and empties into the Charles River Basin.
March teeters on the edge of
winter’s memory as I put one
snowshoe in front of the other
and remember what she said—
the sun is still there
even when I can’t feel it
or can’t see, for that matter,
two feet in front of my face
the future is like that
packaged up in the clouds.
I pull my thoughts away
from the magnet in my brain—
to see a gray jay dart,
chasing the light between branches
and the way the moss-beards
make old men out of trees,
familiar whispers
of dried beech leaves
keep me company now
as the late afternoon sun
breaks through,
spilling into my path
and relighting the pilot of my heart.
© Sahra Kuper