Hatchet

Hatchet

Sarah Collister

for Maxine Kumin

She said we should just bury the hatchet,
The one she sent me in the mail. It split
a copy of my poetry in two.
Like Solomon, perhaps
discerning lies from the truth.
At a reading she accused
me of being an imposter, a lie,
a facsimile, but the rip-off kind
a bum would push at the subway steps.
I saw her at the library, her hair
all frizzed and pinned up much like mine
She asked me to chat over a stale brew.
In my hesitance, I heard her whisper
“I want to be a poet, just like you.”

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Sarah Collister
Poet & Teacher

Sarah is a graduate of New York University and Master’s student at New Saint Andrews College. She teaches English literature at Wilson Hill Academy and lives in Cambridge, with her beloved husband, Clinton.

Photography by Jorge Flores