First love.

I saw you in the high street today.
A fleeting glimpse, little more than
a reflection in a shop window;
a momentary flicker frame
of recognition, followed
by the faintest of hesitations,
that caused my heart to almost cease.
Then, you were gone without trace,
like dropped ash from a cigarette end.

Later, in a different reflection,
I saw us in photographs.
They were sepia, grained with age;
And you were so handsome,
me, so elegant in a 1920's
gold and blue Cocktail Dress,
and as casual chatter drifted,
we danced, lighter than air.
But it was hardly a memory,
let alone a reality.

So instead, I imagined the ocean.
Fathomless; me sinking into its depths,
meeting all manner of strange
creatures on my journey;
giving no thought to
how I was still breathing,
the coolness on my skin,
the darkness descending.
But it was only the turning
of pages in my book;
a reverie, not a reality.

Then, as I sought sleep, I saw you again,
the bloom of youth still on your cheeks;
and you were Cezanne's
'The Boy in the Red Vest.'
Frozen by time, posed as you
were in those photographs,
my words unable to reach you,
let alone lead you back to my arms,
and my eyes became pieces of glass,
all brittle with the rainfall of love.

Maybe one day, before I become thin veined,
I will pen you an anonymous billet-doux.
Hope you might recognise my hand from the
notes I made in your school exercise book.
Those silly little pencilled in hearts
that led to our first ever kiss;
hesitant, but like the first opening
of a newborn child's eyes,
never to be forgotten.

Then again, perhaps I should leave things lie.
A capture on canvas of a boy at his desk,
a young girl, scribbling when opportunity came.
Allow that our worlds have moved on,
that memories have just as rich fruits
to cull as realities; and that divination,
that most ancient and precarious
of arts, is, in the end,
best left to the imagination.

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

So this is what a woman's not-so-secret secret reverie is like.
To be sure, a gifted woman who writes brilliant poetry.
From what I can gather, first loves are almost always more about being in love with love than
the supposed object of our affections; an object we, thoroughly
and conveniently, idealize.

[Akshay Rawal]

It's definitely about how that person makes you feel that you remember them for. Those hints of divination, feelings which are better less explained and how pure and pristine it all seems, when you see your crush. How our minds enable us to imagine a life with someone whom we like and how we try to develop narratives and stories about this person and ourselves, even if, in the end, the person can never be ours, would it even matter? Is it important after all, to merge all these various realities we live in, into a single reality? Maybe, some realities are just be meant to be lived in an imagination, before we risk disillusion and turning things mundane by trying to impose our pitch-perfect conception into reality.

It's not just a reverie, but a story of ours. Thanks for sharing

[Ankita Dwivedi]

This is so equisite ..A dive in to the memories that forces to introspect .Memories are weird , a strange mix of smile on the face , tears in th eyes and longing at heart ..But so is time ..It reminds me of something longe gone but not forgotten ..I think you should pour your heart out on paper aand write that letter ...because life is too short for regrets ..but long enough to loose ourselve and then be found again and even if it is not , it will be a life million times better than one lived in fear ..I loved the way you have expressed yourselfand i am looking forward to reading more by you .
Love , Ankita

[Papaya]

This is gorgeous Beccy and I find myself wondering if you should pen that letter or leave it be. I have a romantic heart so I say write it.

[Lorry]

And you got all that from a reflection in a shop window? I think I've been using amazon too long 😀
I like how your reflections moves from past into present and future possibilities of memories to reflect back on to one day. Great last line leaves imagination ticking and dare I say, leaves us reflecting our own reflections too 😀

[S.zaynab.kamoonpury]

I have poems not yet posted here of crossing paths with suitors so I enjoyed your fabulous poem recollecting and reminiscing the moments in a beautiful way, so poetic and then your considering reviving lost feelings but later leaving it to dreams and imagination all so superbly portrayed.
I ESP liked the photographs lines, the sepia and the rest. Kudos!!


Plz pleez do read and comment my newest poem too.

[Ken Simm.]

So elegant with so many layers. So beautiful replete with so many memories. So amazingly composed with so much angaement for the reader. Wonderful piece. One of my favorites of yours.

[alanwgraham]

This is very lovely and accomplished Beccy. Our first love occupies a special place somewhere in our memory and can last a lifetime. You have given us many great metaphors to describe how this relationship feels.
All the best,
Alan

[emmajoy]

Should I admit that my first love was my pa? Well, he was! When over the years, I look back I realise that his being gave me a few questions to ponder over during my life! Not father paranoid but, guiding star perhaps.

Your stanzas - each one majestically put and pictured,travels time and impression so strongly, every word delicately, clearly put. But, the way in which you've written makes me wonder why the memories are still something to wonder about. The imagination has a lot to answer for. Keep safe, friend.

[Beccy]

Love is such a complex and many faceted emotion; and as daughters, we must be ever grateful for the difference between guiding star and 'star crossed,' which is a term that can be applied to many a first puppy love. :))

Interesting how you picked up on the undercurrent. How it is that what was little more than a brief flirtation so many years ago, seems to have remained so fresh in the mind. But then, you do always seem to see beneath the surface.

The trigger was that oh, so brief sighting, (it really happened,) the flash of recognition after so many years had passed. I knew instantly I would write about it; and afterwards, after several days of thought about what it might be like to meet him again, the poem pretty much wrote itself. The progression from stanza to stanza, detailing how I imagined the journey; with the final stanza being an acceptance that it is almost always best to leave the past where it belongs.

Thank you for such a lovely and understanding comment; and as you so rightly point out, the imagination has a lot to answer for. :))

Beccy. X

[emmajoy]

Hugs and thanks for your response, Beccy.. Strange and often beautiful how memories linger.. our hearts are sometimes far stronger than our brains! Or there again, only if we allow them to be. Catch you soon, til then, take care and of course, keep safe,

[emmajoy]

Sunday.. waving hello and happy be!

[Jibey]

I liked the charm and wistful, delicate touch of this memoir... reflecting with such such fragile tenderness, such nostalgia for a dream that turns sepia with time. To capture the moments in words and images - the ash, the brittle glass, the 'rainfall of love', the newborn child - all is exquisitely crafted into a poem of beauty, dignity and genuine feeling.

[barleygirl]

I see you are 43 & I was 63 two days ago . . . in that intervening 20 years, so much slips away! I wish I could remember such a plethora of detail from ANY encounter of my entire life (forget about remembering my first love back in the stone ages!) I love how you look at "first love" from many angles & perspectives, using comparison & analogy. I love how you show the current moment at first, how this encounter comes about, then you delve into layer after layer of the aftershocks, the way we remember more & more about a situation as it simmers in our synapses a while. Your trajectory of words resembles the trajectory of how our minds nibble into some big mysterious memory, digging it up more & more vividly (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie