I am searching for the exact spot
where Emily leapt over the creek, a tiny wood
nymph beneath silverbells and sugar maples,
behind her a hundred shades of green:
moss and ferns and brook lettuce,
hemlocks and buckeyes and tulip trees
just leafing out, so tender you could sprinkle them
in your salad and savor spring’s first breath.
We were all young then and laughing,
cameras snapping and snacks in our backpacks,
jackets already discarded and shoelaces retied, shouting
warnings to the children about roots and rocks and sharp edges.
I’ll never find it again, that perfect field of wildflowers
where Emily landed laughing on her two small feet
bare in a lush mass of fringed phacelia and sweet white trillium,
the sun sprinkling glitter on her floating white dress.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 1.
Sarah Cummins Small lives outside Knoxville, TN. She taught creative writing, literature, and composition for over 20 years to students at all levels, from elementary to college. Her poetry has appeared in Yalobusha Review, Willow Review, Appalachia Bare, Free the Verse, among others. She holds an MA in English/creative writing from Iowa State University.
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