Sarah Wilson’s Poetry Who? Whose memories are home made preserves sweet and tart with a taste of sublime wisdom? The surprise of one unlikely word touching another In shades of golden rust and blues Sarah’s poetry owl crys at night tearing silence asunder shocking and beguiling us with taboos. Her small town people really take the cake. Pictures and words are infused in our mind with her torch as we wend our way down to her dock on the lake. Her captain is not by the boat but sitting quietly on the porch. Sarah offers us tea in a most genteel way and then sails us on a wind so swift we are balloons in a Nor'easter catching a branch to linger and watch the stranger than fiction before we’re swept away into another day of expected surprise.