Friday, October 17, 2008

A story

Once there was a boy
who things happened to.
His mother could not raise him,
so his grandmother tried.
He was swept along
by the current. He was deeply loved
but he never knew it.

One day he woke as an adult,
dreaming within waking.
In this dream he learned
that he held his destiny
in his own hands, these hands
which had tilled earth and gardened,
had become worn with grief and worry,
but had never made
a single thing happen.

He saw the fragility of his destiny
and feared he would crush it,
his hands seemed so coarse-- so
he laid it tenderly
on a bed of lavender and turned his back,
afraid to watch it lying there
growing cold
naked and pale.


Rachel Westfall
October 17, 2008

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