Thursday, October 16, 2008

October child

Like a sliver of aspen caught
by the rough breeze, there is a hint
of trouble in this child, a taste
of worry that just won’t ease. Yet

she is not afraid to run, and soon
she may fly, it seems, forgetting
momentarily what lurks in dark corners
breaking the hope of restful sleep.

Run, child, fly like the scattered leaves,
tossed by the uncharacteristic winds
of this changing world. You won’t
keep what you fear at bay forever,

but for now, the sun beats down, not
yet paled by the approaching deep
winter. The trees stretch their limbs
costumed for Halloween with rakish fingers,

laughing as they comb the sky.

Rachel Westfall
October 16, 2008

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