by Rosie Pound
They call you “The Angels over Ballyhoo”
But I do not see angels, or ghosts.
I see your toothy smiles
in the rocks on the mountainside.
I hear your laughter in the wind.
Your spirits still felt in the crisp Alaskan air.
My rage – is the crashing of the waves.
Her loss – is the wilting of the fireweed.
Our agony – is the eagle’s cry.
But angels? No. I see two girls
too young. A small town, Unalaska,
shattered. And my sister – struggling
to put together the pieces you left behind.
But this cannot be undone.
A truck, Mt. Ballyhoo, the cliff.
There’s no reverse. No, “try again?”
So instead, I choose to see you –
dancing across the Aleutian tundra,
hand in hand. Smiling for all the world
as if you really are “The Angels over Ballyhoo.”
🙏❤️ Love this, love you Rosie
Thank you Lynda! I’m happy I’m able to share this with all of you. ❤️
very nice poem Rosie.