Gravity's Angel

Fumble feet on thick concrete.

Clumsy steps,

Silly dress.

 

The stumble belies the fall

tumbling, toppling

slipping silver through the sea

of oxygen,

nitrogen,

CO2,

argon.

 

She parts the air in sheets;

it cannot hold the weight

of her misty dreams

and her fears,

her ringing laughter

and her tears.

 

Still as a Polaroid

Arms outstretched as wings

Loose hair that softly swings

At once dutiful,

pitiful,

hopeful,

beautiful.

 

Frozen in time

but at last time gives way

with a tick-tock

and a click-clock,

with a crash-bang

and with a sprawl across the sidewalk.

 

Gravity’s angel cannot fly.

But gravity’s angel picks herself up,

wipes herself off.


Gravity’s angel is me, is I.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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