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by David Hill

The 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.


Author's Note: All things come and go, and sometimes I notice.

Posted on 08/23/2009
Copyright © 2024 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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