Monday, September 28, 2009

The thief

Who am I to gift
you with anything, my love?

So I placed it there,
what I would give you if I
had the courage to,
hoping you would find
this treasure I made for you.

When you picked it up,
looked around, furtive, and slipped
it in your pocket,
then grinning, silently I
watched your back, lithe, slink away.

Knew I had you then.

Rachel Westfall
September 27, 2009
This is a reply to Christopher's poem which he left in the comments of my poem from a few days ago, Offering. And so we weave...

5 comments:

christopher said...

The Pretty Thing

What is that I smell
better than jasmine? It comes
from that pretty thing
all snug in the moss
north of the tallest cedar
in the old growth stand.
I found it, followed
my nose and the stirring blood
within me, growing
hot.

Take it, you said.
Steal it. You know how. I did.
I'm caught like a fish.

Woman in a Window said...

and so she does,
I think.

(knew it)
xo
erin

Diane Vogel Ferri said...

your poetry always amazes no matter what the topic.

Char said...

Love the banter between you and Christopher. He truly seems to inspire you, as you do him. Carry on.

RachelW said...

Ah thank you all. :) I love the way this one came out, this weaving.

Christopher, there you go. Caught with a sticky hand in the candy jar. :)