Wednesday, March 19, 2008


Talking to the wall
I resist shouting but
in hoarse whispers

So why this infuriating silence
of unyielding bricks and mortar
shaped by rough weather,
moss and lichen
patches of grey green and orange
ancient as the sun?

Yelling into the sky
I see the clouds
roll in
and tear open
dropping sparks and swollen streaks
into the dust

If the sky hears me
why won’t you?

Rachel Westfall
March 19, 2008

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