Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Forgotten angels

The truth swings round. The memory
too old for this, too old for this now

a bridge, broken loose swinging, a slow arc
through river’s mischievous current
swim, swim, flutter kick home

swings round. The arc a small child running,
a curve, giggles full of glee, arms held wide
to snatch and spin, laughing round,
spinning to the ground. The memory held
lost now, lost now, too late to swim home

precious as a momentary lapse of moth,
brush of wings, silver powder the gift,
scattered carelessly, of long forgotten angels.

Rachel Westfall
November 11, 2009

8 comments:

Julie said...

Hi, Rachel. I always try to think of something witty or interesting to say that will do justice to your beautiful words, but I always end up saying how much I love your poem. I should just be happy to say that. I do love it. It's wonderful and hits me in a powerful way. The last stanza is amazing.

Mike-Mike said...

The 'Angels' live in our memories, thus are never forgotten...

"The truth swings round" with the wings of an Angel...

BloggerMouth said...

Too late to swim home... sigh. Beautiful poem, Rachel. Beautiful.

Annie said...

Hi Rachel, Your poem is beautiful. I especially enjoy the third stanza. The poem evokes memories of my own, looking up to the sky, and spinning under the trees.

Rikkij said...

Rach- I love the thought of a broken bridge, swinging and creaking and churning the water. So sad, it's too late. ~rick

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

A sweet verse of melacholy.


I won't forget these lines:
"precious as a momentary lapse of moth,
brush of wings, silver powder the gift,"

And life is that fleeting moment of recognition.

SarahA said...

It's the memories that make us, I am thinking.
'precious as a momentary lapse of moth,
brush of wings, silver powder the gift,
scattered carelessly, of long forgotten angels'
This will stay in MY memory.

Poetikat said...

Your poems are filled with so much, Rachel. The way you can capture the essence of childhood is remarkable.