Almost Born

by Sarah Bigham


A boot-dripping spring,

small classroom abuzz,

maintenance men in flannel

brought their own show and tell.

Thought we’d want to see,

hauled you right in,

curled damply

in an old blue plastic bucket.

White dots, tiny tail,

shining eyes of black glass,

my little heart broke for us

as I faced the ground.


I am the teacher now.

I see your brethren and kiss them a wish,

looking skyward,

honoring our spirits,

erasing our pain.

Sarah Bigham reads, teaches, and writes in Maryland where she lives with a chemist, three lazy cats and an unwieldy herb garden.  Find her at