Emergence

Emergence features poems of celebration and gratitude for a life well-lived, focusing on the simple gifts of everyday. The speaker here is emerging, like the dragonflies in her pond, into her fullest maturity. Like her old, beloved purse, she cherishes her self, her life "still / carrying its weight, stitching / still strong." A memory at the beauty salon evokes a long-ago lover; an art project with a grandchild has "paper hearts flying / everywhere." Humor flavors many of these poems. To her husband she offers "a body past first frost, a mind slightly ajar." Elsewhere, she asks, "Shall I Compare Our Marriage to a Circus?" There is appreciation and acceptance, as in "Harbored," about a moored sloop. "Old boats prefer the gentle swells near shore, I think, clouds flirting with the moon, wisps of wind riffling the water."

-Mary Rohrer-Dann, author of Accidents of Being: Poems from a Philadelphia Neighborhood

The title poem of Sarah Russell's Emergence grabs you with its first lines. "I traced a single silky thread / from aspen to eaves and watched / a spider, backlit by the sun, weaving / precise, gossamer tendrils, interconnected." The scene is beyond the perception of most, and the writing is beyond beautiful.

Emergence will not let you go. The poems interweave aging, memory, and loss with the natural world and remind us of how much there is to live for. There is always one more journey and what you might take along... "A strong walking stick that fits my grasp. / Oatmeal raisin cookies. / A few favorite poems..."

-Steven Deutsch, winner of the Sinclair Poetry Prize for Brooklyn

When you see the stunning dragonfly illustration on the cover of Emergence, you may think this is a debut poetry collection. To me it means Sarah Russell has progressed from an admired poet to my life coach-my "how to write about life" coach to be more precise. She's making the most of her senior years, moving closer to grandchildren and continuing to write about the world around her. Even saying goodbye to friends who pass becomes a promise to keep their memories alive. She says, "Time is my hope. Enough time to finish things."

-Alarie Tenille, author of Running Counterclockwise and Three A.M. at the Museum