Monday, February 2, 2009


If I lost my kite
high in a tree would you climb
up awkwardly, bloodying your palms

on the rough bark, scrambling for a foothold
to bring it down? Remember when
a man offered comfort to a little girl

who had a broken toy in her hands, colourful
blocks in pieces; he took out his wallet and pulled out
a two dollar bill, crisp and red; frightened,

she snatched the money so quick then ran
with a short glance over her shoulder, pursued
by those stories of what happens

to little girls who talk to strangers

Rachel Westfall
February 2, 2009


Poetikat said...

I really had to think about that "crisp and red", but I got there in the end.
Love it! The short glance over her shoulder (it's as if you inhabit your creations).


jozien said...

Ah that's me.
Both the climber and the child.
Lovely poem Rachel!!!

christopher said...

The way the adult and the child interweave in this is well crafted, dear.

RachelW said...

Kat, haha! How quickly we forget! :)

Jozien, I think I'm both too- wanting to be helpful, and being afraid to trust.

Thanks Christopher, and all of you!

Karen said...

I love the structure of this, with the opening question leading into the memory and the connections between the two. Well done!

Ardi K said...

I love this. It takes me away. With memories and a ready ear.