Friday, September 18, 2009


With gratitude to Cat for the image prompt.

The moon was rubbed gold that night,
a sliver of wealth
anointed layer by layer by the hands
of the living,
the hands of the dead
and the touch of those long gone before.

Grandmother was there
somewhere too, sandwiched
in peeling gold micron-thin,
and great-grandmother, her hair
shiny-black under a silk scarf
fresh and bright, full of air and sun.

The moon was rubbed-gold that night,
and beyond it stretched
an impossible sky of milky way,
a light-filled bowl
long-stirred for the feast.

Rachel Westfall
September 18, 2009


Karen said...

Beautiful imaginings, Rachel. Perfect title and take on Cat's painting. You should link to it.

RachelW said...

Thanks, Karen. :) It is linked up top, above the poem.

devilsivy said...

Such a lovely layer your hands have rubbed onto that moon's patina!

Cherie/ Butterfly Dreamer said...

Layer by layer...loved it!

Anonymous said...

Ooh, fascinatingly dreamy! I approve, and I'm sure the smiling ancestors do too. :)

Julie said...

Oh, how beautiful! The moon "rubbed gold" is spectacular. The middle stanza is so very powerful and a wonderful pivot between the first and third. I love it!

Kristin Dombrowski said...

"A light-filled bowl/ long-stirred for the feast" is fantastic. Blessings!

joaquin carvel said...

the last two lines make me hungry for living. great piece!

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

It reads like an ancient bedtime story. Very polished to a rich glow.

Woman in a Window said...

Ummm, generations under the rubbed gold moon. And I want to know what they were doing, what they spoke of, how they touched knees.

That's a lie.
I simply want my knee touched.

Catvibe said... comment seems to have been eaten here! I loved this, especially the asian sentiments of generations, grandmothers, layers. Beautiful.

RachelW said...

Thanks so much, all of you! :) Cat, that is weird... I swear I saw your earlier comment. I wonder where it went?