Friday, December 12, 2008

Spirit child

Her hair was fire
or was it air? a pulsatilla cloud

its strands frozen, motionless as the fear
struck her. It was her back

turned towards me, rigid, and her arms
wrapped securely around her bundle of special things

that gave her away. A child she was
no more, but an ancient soul

caught in this dizzying fragment of time, caught
in a wave of recollection.

Rachel Westfall
December 12, 2008

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