Thursday, April 21, 2016

April 21, 2016 Writer's Digest April PAD Challenge 2016 /A Child Waits...A Woman Doesn't

I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
Glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers....
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant’s
Feather....
Will you know me?

I glanced at the credit for this poem:

Hilda Conkling, Age 10, 1922

Age 10? OF course, I had to know more about this prodigy. I’ll confess that I’d never heard of Hilda Conkling before, or if I had, I’d forgotten about a person once described as “the most famous of all child poets in America.”


A Child Waits...A Woman Doesn't

when the question came up      i was told             you were traveling

seas, rivers and sunny meadows      glens that hold secrets

i could imagine            you there        couldn't wait for your return

knew you would tell me    all that you learned    yes, it would be just like you

returning with your hands full of light and flowers        you were always

the one            with your hands full of things               you picked up

traveling this road or the other               things you picked up by the sea

star fish          creamy white shells             a green glass fisherman's float

a tiny pine-cone in your pocket      grains of pink sand between your fingers

i wait to hear of the golden pheasant's feather    tucked into the band of your hat

i a little girl then      and it all seemed quiet plausible         no longer a child

a woman now        oh, that it would be true          i no longer await your return

April 21, 2016










2 comments:

  1. WOW! That child's poem is breathtaking. I must check her out........astonishing. I adore your poem, which weaves in some of the same beauties of Hilda's poem. Such expectation, in the awaiting of a return. Such sadness, now, no longer waiting. Agh. It gets me right in the throat! A beautiful, achingly poignant poem, my friend.

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