3 Swans Arrive in Prague
They arrive clothed in April keenness, three
Valkyries, a cloudy V made for smaller birds.
They fly across the face of the National Theatre:
golden spikes, a winged charioteer and reeling
horses, frozen in jealous bronze. Bobbing heavy
on the possibility they’re too big to be airborne.
The three Snow White travelers line up
over the Vltava river, but exhausted currents
tug them, a drunken line, between sights
of the Castle, the Old Town, centuries of migration,
unchanging instinct. They lower and pass over
Charles Bridge, ignoring lucky statues, bands,
artists, beggars, hawkers, two dogs arguing.
Wings folding down, an impossibly controlled
curve that looks like crash landing in trees.
Instead a perfect landing on the river, home.
Matthew Friday is a writer, professional storyteller and primary school teacher. By all means check out the results at: matthewfriday.weebly.com/poetry