Monday, June 16, 2008

broken

how easily is a good
feeling crushed? so
readily, like a fragment
of robin’s egg, found
beneath a tree in the moss
such a hopeful blue

the last time I recall seeing
my father really smile, where
it touched his eyes, green
flecked with brown, I carried
the news of the mock-orange
broken by a fallen bicycle

I still carry the guilt
for smashing that
morning’s sunshine

and I often wondered
growing up
if it was my fault
he stopped smiling


Rachel Westfall
June 16, 2008

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