Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Curandera

I would take your pain,
hold it like an egg until
it warms in my hands,
turning it over
every few hours
until it hatches. A soft
yellow chick would tap
through, and with my thumbs
I’d gently widen the rent
in the shell to set
this new life free. Free,
I would hear you sigh,
nerves finally eased
with the release of this long,
low sweet gestation.

Rachel Westfall
October 27, 2009

For Christopher

Monday, October 26, 2009

Award time!

Thanks, Joseph, for gifting me with a Creative Blogger Award. (If you haven’t checked out Joseph’s blog yet, please do! It’s well worth the visit.)

The Creative Blogger award comes with two requirements: I’m supposed to pass it on to 7 people, but first, and I’m supposed to tell you all seven interesting (bizarre?) bits of trivia about myself.

Alright. Here are the seven oddball tidbits about me:

1) All my life I have dreamed longingly about times before motor vehicles, as something in me rebels against a car-oriented landscape. My young daughter recently said the same thing to me, so maybe it’s genetic.

2) I have ancestors from North America, Europe, and Asia. Maybe in the next generation, a few other continents will get added to the mix. My kids and I have enough variety in us that we qualified to become members of the Yukon Metis Nation. Having no clear ancestry, I’ve felt unrooted all this time.

3) I was fascinated by animal behaviour as a kid and I always thought I’d study it one day. In the end, I majored in botany because I couldn’t justify animal dissection in university.

4) Both my kids were planned homebirths. The first, my son, was a last-minute hospital transfer due to a nervous midwife; the second, my daughter, was a freebirth (no midwife). My daughter was born in a fishie pool. It was wonderful.

5) I love my woodstove and my house full of pets, plants and kids.

6) I don’t own a television, and I probably never will.

7) My dad used to bake cookies using the applesauce he made from the Dolgo crabapple tree he’d planted in the backyard of my childhood home. I can still remember exactly how they tasted. I planted two Dolgos in my yard last year, so maybe I’ll get to taste those cookies again some day soon.

As for picking seven of you to pass this on to, yikes!! Believe me, if I’m following your work, I consider you to be an award-worthy creative blogger. So, I’m going to use this opportunity to spotlight seven of the bloggers who have recently come to my attention.

Check these out for yourself. You won’t regret it.

Word Garden by Shay
In Through the Back Door by Erin
Dancing with the Waves of the Sea by SarahA
Kigo of the Kat, Kat's latest creation
Epiphany by Cynthia
The photographs by Morgaine
Misty afternoon photography by Ida

Friday, October 23, 2009

remembering

Maybe there’s a place
between the words you said
and I, mind downstream
laughing on an inner tube
slightly high and giddy
decades past, drawn back sharply
by your irritation, crust-like lichen
a memory, 50 years
to grow a hand’s breadth
across granite punched through
by the mineral seeker’s drill,
maybe there’s a place
in there I left something,
back then for myself
to find today, rediscover
and come back full circle and spit,
those words no gift but a curse,
slow venom held cradled
like a charm
 
Rachel Westfall
October 23, 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

what we won

The sky tossed jewels that day, a carpet
crunching under our booted feet
and lining the trails with brilliance.

That night, surely the moon painted us a curve
of shimmer through the forest, so the thought
of getting lost never crossed our minds.

Instead we shuffled our feet, stomped
and blew frosty breath into chilled hands, reluctant
to head home just yet and kill the moment.

Rachel Westfall
October 21, 2009

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Cool desert

I'll never get tired of this view.

Or this one.

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
diving
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
deep
in that secret place
where none would ever find them.

Rachel Westfall
October 14, 2009

Saturday, October 10, 2009

What you said

I wrote this in one of those conversations with Christopher, then somehow missed it in the queue. So here it is now.

What you said

There was nothing but silence
even echoes muffled, buried
under threat of avalanche
though I screamed and raged,
stomped my feet, needing to know
Why, Why? Until

softly at first
just a gurgle trapped
under winter’s glaciation
you whispered

then spoke

a shout breaking through, a roar
shimmering a thousand mirrors
of pale sunlight, kissing
earth’s hope of spring.

How I loved you then.

Rachel Westfall
September 27, 2009

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Appearances

You think you can watch her, benevolent
as she lies splayed out across
the snow bank watching
streams of green
ribbon over
the sky.
You think the moment is all zen.
You imagine the air freezing to crystals
fills her hair with ice beauty
shards of glass all tangled
with eyelash
white on black.
You think she waits to breathe in magic,
the wonder of the night, so
blind to her reluctance
unaware of her delay
to step inside
the house
and face
that man, drunk and heavy-fisted
red-faced with jealous whisky
wasted body roaring
for a brawl.
 
Rachel Westfall
October 4, 2009


Yes, Christopher inspired this one, too.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Refraction II

And then you ran
my anger a shout

round cheeks unhappy
big sister to small

tear-stained and red
hollering in frustration

stumpy legs stomping
with a quick grab at your back

on down the hill
fingers sliding off

to snatch the wild asparagus
your thin cotton sundress

breaking it crudely
yellow as the sun

as you flew by
running not fast enough

a cloud of sand dust rising
to save us from the loss

choking out the promise
of rivalry’s vindictiveness

of that delicious treasure
that delicious treasure gone


Rachel Westfall
October 3, 2009