Tuesday, April 22, 2014

A Poem by Christina Sargent

Leah


We grew up like sisters,
Separated at birth,
But she was a fairy,
Some sprite with an air of mischievous elegance.
Her laughter sounded like sunshine.
Mine resembled uncut grass.

She would attempt to mentor me,
In a way.
Being two months older
Gave her a thousand more hours of wisdom,
As I saw it.
She taught me funny jokes.
She did my hair,
And showed me how to be cool,
Although we were never quite
In the same league
When it came to that sort of thing.


As we grew older,
Her kindness and interest
In my uneventful life
Surprised me.
She told me stories of her days
Spent at home, in the clouds,
With her angelic companions,
Who were as graceful and well-liked as she.
And I realized that if she had not been a part of my life
Since the day I was born,
Friends predestined by the bonds of blood,
This nymph would not have descended
From her woven throne
To spend time with me.


So for a while when I spoke with her
I was cautious, calculated,
Afraid of startling this creature
And sending her fluttering back
To that secret meadow from which she came.
But slowly, as the grass grows,
I have come to understand
That she will always return to this world
With the same pleasant curiosity
As when she left it last.


We have responsibilities now,
Hers divine and mine demure,
But necessary.
So it has become more difficult,
As the years progress,
To meet as we used to,
On Saturday afternoons
Where the shifting sky
Brushes the steady hills,
And the willows dip gently
Into the chattering brook.


When our paths do cross,
She greets me with the same charm,
As though she were frozen in time,
And my presence is what brings her back to life.
Nothing can change between us in the interim.
I am the same girl,
And she is the same goddess now
That we were eighteen years ago.


I haven’t seen her face in ages,
Though I sometimes hear that melodic voice
Caught in the wind.
It still feels like a warm summer breeze.


If you see her,
Please tell her I miss her.
I will not tread lightly
For fear of crushing her wings anymore.
I know now that she is strong.
We are strong.
If she still wants to share
Those enchanted stories,
I can be found in the garden

Awaiting her arrival.

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