Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Caravan child

Caravan child, the mischief
in your dark eyes flickers
with the sun, with the flames
of the campfire, with flecks
of mica on granite.

Your rainbow attire
is scrubbed clean, well-worn
and carefully patched, never, ever
to be mistaken for neglect,
beloved little one.

So you live by your wits, so? We all
find a way to survive, one way
or another, but do we all
find such joy? Such delight

in the small things,
hopping
slithering
smooth-stoned
sinewy
rough-barked treasures found,
a snail on the wall,
a wooded cave,
fingertips painted with ripe berries,
wild mint and nettles.

Caravan child, in the rose
of your cheeks, the bold sun shines
like petals, and here
in this forest, in this field,
in this mountain stream
you are home.


Rachel Westfall
March 3, 2009

11 comments:

gameover709 said...

This is so...fresh! I loved it...berry stained fingers...beautiful imagery!
jorc

Kyddryn said...

Oh, this makes the Gypsy happy!

Shade and Sweetwater,
K

Aleksandra said...

Uiiiy,you do this so fine,I feel better when I put my tired eyes on your light,thank you for that,love Aleksandra.

christopher said...

Peaceful
Peaceful
Philosophical
Full blown poesy
Peaceful

:)

This is not a poem. This is a symphony in five movements.

Karen said...

What a lovely tribute to your child. It's a beautiful portrait of celebration.

Robert said...

so enjoyable with some of life's truths mixed in

Woman in a Window said...

Perfectly wonderful. Children and nature, a sure hit recipe any time.

(And the patched up but not neglected attire, so appealing and well lived here.)

RachelW said...

Jorc, thanks! Yeah I'm glad the berry stains ended up there... that bit got changed a few times until I was happy with it.

Kyddryn, yep, and the inspiration was the Tony Gatlif film Swing, wonderful if you ever get a chance to see it...

Aleksandra, I'm so glad. My eyes too, they need to be eased at the end of the day (so why do I find myself so often looking at a computer screen? ;)

Christopher, I am blushing at the thought; a symphony! A wonderful way to look at words, as music.

Karen, thanks! The photo is of my child, though the poem is not-- some of our ancestors are Roma, but we are not travellers, not now, anyway. :)

Robert, truths, and possibly dreams?

WiaW, thank you! Yeah, it's the meaning of life, isn't it? :)

Ravy said...

and the picture is the soul of giggle!

Karen said...

Interesting -- and cultural -- that I didn't make the connection with Travellers. I thought more of freedom. (Here, they're called gypsies.)

Gypsy me said...

Joy from the Gypsy wild heart child

Happy, happy we journey on...