Wednesday, August 13, 2008


a word cuts deep. a knife
the hawk’s beak, a streak of spilled blood
the eagle’s eye. what was gently
growing cradled warm and deep
in red-pink glow

is gone


so little do we know about
what could have been, until a dark sky
alive in three dimensions

draws down
with the suddenness of thunder, a hint
of remembered potential
if only dreamed.

Rachel Westfall
August 13, 2008


Kyddryn said...

Sigh. Sometimes I worry about you, love.

Shade and Sweetwater,

mike mike ;) said...

Three sides cut deep? In a dream?
Where? This life? A past life?
A future life?

Some things are beyond our understanding: not for us to know.

Gone, poof--just like that!


RachelW said...

Kyddryn, I'm ok. Really. Well, as ok as I'm probably going to get. Yeah, that's it.

Actually, this is one in a series of poems I've been working on about abortion. Different sides of the story. Another one is here:

There is a third poem from yet another angle that I haven't posted because Blogger doesn't support untraditional formats, text alignment, lengthy spaces between words etc.

I'm not sure how to address the formatting problems, which have affected quite a few poems so far. Maybe I should send the Blogger team a rant about it. ;)