Falling red, closed honeysuckle-like blooms
Beneath child’s light tapping toe.
Mother turns to look,
fewer footsteps beside her gait.
Soaking in small daughter
Tapping on hop-scotched sidewalk,
Returns by way of mortar
And concrete houses’ gates.
Two lowered heads tasking,
Popping vine’s red fallen blooms
To crackling morning’s crispness
On a hundred afternoons.
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3 comments:
awesome. one my faves....
-Dan
this is lovely, but ethereal, too. ghostly. harder to visualize. little bits of rhyme -- I almost thougth it was a -- rondel? villanelle? can't remember, whichever has the same words at the end of the lines, just mixed up. each verse. It feels form-ish. vivid color, aural elements. i want to practice some form with you and the others. thanks for this.
Erin, I love this. I love the lyrical - sing out loud - quality your capture here. I like that it makes it's own way through the meter and rhyme, because it does make its way, very nicely thank-out, and on 'a path less traveled' which is a BIG bonus as far as I'm concerned. Opaleye.
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