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.

[Anxiety]

OMFG I love everything about this poem and I can relate to it so much. I love how you also included the illusion that you'll never forget your first crush/love.

[John the Baptist]

I get the feeling that the first stanza represents an actual occurrence, and the subsequent ones are the memories stoked by that chance and one sided recognition. Some things are never really forgotten, just stored away in the dark closet of the subconscious. The depth of the feeling aroused by the incident shows how much the relationship meant to the speaker. The beautiful imagery used in the description of that feeling gives insight to the rest of us. Well done.

[Relic]

I think it's funny how the memories of a first love are never forgotten no matter how old you are. They're like landmarks in our life that are for the most parts the most memorable and special. Your descriptions are unique and give us a glimpse into that part of life that stood out for you. Nice writing. :)

[Eilis]

What I enjoy about your poetry is that you manage to evoke feelings that are familiar to us all, but you do it in a way that is so accessible and profound at the same time that I feel imparted with both the buzz of memory and the weight of wisdom at the same time. There is a deceptive simplicity to your work. These thoughts and ideas laid out for us to peruse and by the end we are shaking our heads in complete agreement and perhaps understanding ourselves better in the process.

Love is both a high and low of living. The beauty of its memory can keep us satisfied for a lifetime, or alternatively the pain of losing it can haunt us just as deeply. You manage to offer this great human sense of things here. The way we can continue to live the past through memory and allow even the memory to take on new life. And also, the ways we can potentially hurt ourselves or impede our growth by focusing too much on something that is, in fact, fodder for history. The poet's spirit thrives of feeling. But, there is other food besides. And explorations that can be just as enriching. But the allure of love is an ever-present--and can take us anywhere if we give ourselves over to it. What your poem reminds us is that this can be both good and bad. Excellent poetry, Beccy.

[Patricia Wedel]

dearest Beccy... your way with feelings has left me
in wonderment. When a baby's eyes open and love is born...
A rich feeling that glows like the Oceans depth and ripples
into your being forever tied to the light that always gives
you divine devotion to the memory of your first love.
tenderly, Pat

[boblakin]

Reads almost like a film script; very powerful and evocative imagery throughout. Love how just those two little words, 'thin veined' write a whole chapter on the inevitability of aging and how the passing of the years tend to concentrate the mind on how brief is our time on this planet.

Really good poem.

[NotUsinganymore]

Very beautiful sweer me about first love. It is very true you can't ever forget them.

[Terpsichore]

Hi Beccy. Finding it difficult to find words to do this justice, so I shall just 'borrow' some of yours. :)

'Then, you were gone without trace, like dropped ash from a cigarette end.'

'this time, you were Cezanne's 'The Boy in the Red Vest.' Frozen by time,'

'our first ever kiss; hesitant, but like the first opening of a newborn child's eyes,
never to be forgotten,'

A remarkable poem, chock full of imagery, that moves seamlessly from that first fleeting glimpse, to a final acceptance that the world moves on; and I found the phraseology to be both unique and quite incredibly moving.

Like RE Ray, this is now a firm favourite.

T

[R.E. Ray]

Beccy, it's remarkable when you can capture so much time and emotion in six relatively short stanzas. I saw and heard children, teenagers and young adults in this piece, the speaker showing more maturity with each period, and maybe a little bitterness, but not enough to lose hope in love, but the wisdom that comes from recognizing people aren't often what we believe, and we change, too, our expectations especially.

I read this three times and the meter seems perfect. Though I didn't think about form as I read it, it's exceptional as it is. I particularly love the last four lines. And, yes, I thought about my "first love" and this poem captures those memories and feelings better than others I've read. One of my favorites from you.