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Archaic
by David HillThe air show must be in town.
Three times in two days
I have seen her.
First the sound;
the twin props rumble,
rattle the earth.
Heads turn…
She rises from the trees,
a gray metal hulk
against the white clouds,
east to west,
heavy and low.
This mystery, this miracle.
In boyhood, she flew
shiny and new;
over dusty ball fields,
framed in the thick glass
of our family car,
or while I lay on my back,
fingers laced,
in a grassy field.
Sweet, sweet summer…
Dwindle down
her days.
She disappears behind the trees.
08/23/2009 Author's Note: All things come and go, and sometimes I notice.
Posted on 08/23/2009
Copyright © 2025 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 08/23/09 at 09:42 PM ...an honest-to-goodness Kodak moment. you framed it well with line breaks and stanza length, great snap. |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 08/24/09 at 10:16 PM I love this, it feels like summer ending, childs anticipation, what used to be...amazing imagery. smh |
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