Wednesday, October 14, 2009

How memories were made

The child wove small baskets
her raven-head tousled
sitting in the corner
knotting thread
and grass together
while the voices went on.

The voices went on
weaving low tones
rising into anger
sliding through reconciliation
in the slow song of speech.

The child caught the words
her raven-head tousled
caught them in her basket
wove them tight
tangled with coloured thread
and tough dry grass
then hid them

hid them deep
in her pocket
in that secret place
where none would ever find them.

Rachel Westfall
October 14, 2009


Fireblossom said...

Mmm yes, children are always listening and absorbing what goes on around them, aren't they?

Karen said...

Was this you, Rachel? I think we do weave these words and feelings into our baskets. Unfortunately.

Anonymous said...

Did you choose "raven" for a particular reason? I'm not an expert on Native American mythology of the raven, but from what I do know, this seems especially appropriate... it's a nifty image as well. :)

RachelW said...

Fireblossom, mm, yeah! :)

Karen, not me. I channeled this one from somewhere, I guess.

Joseph, it just had to be, for this one. I didn't think about it really. And yeah, I like the raven image, too!

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Lovely poem

christopher said...


Cherie/ Butterfly Dreamer said...

Secrets of childhood. Lovely.

Mike-Mike said...

Beautiful-beautiful-beautiful! ;)

Raven blood, in your blood--a secret, no more:)


holly said...

I really know this feeling...I feel that way about my family.

Anonymous said...

'hid them deep
in her pocket
in that secret place
where none would ever find them' I still do *sigh* Beautiful write, you.

joaquin carvel said...

the first time i read this, it felt overwhelmingly sad. the second time, it felt overwhelmingly hopeful. somehow, i think both are right.

kenflett said...

beautiful Rachel, a passionate sadness.