A Fortieth Birthday Poem to Myself What a long way my children have to go To come from me. About them, all I know Is that odd journey. Through a crowding wind They bike to church. They queue for an exam. They lurch on bumping airline aisles. They pace Museums, tap the car to work, and race To elevators. I have not been kind. From a great distance I have called behind. Children are weak and naked—so I hear— Yet these exacting years they must endure And trust that they will meet me in some green Home neither they nor I have ever seen. The New Criterion, vol. 18, #4 (March 2000), p. 37.

Photographer: Harris Steinman Click on photo above for a larger picture

 

A selection of poems

 

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Index Page | The Author | Sarah's Poetry | Some Reviews

These Pages were first created in November 1996, and updated in November 2005.