Monday, April 19, 2010

This ragged heart

In response to Christopher's poem which can be found in the comments here on this blog, two posts below:

This ragged heart

This ragged heart wears
a dirty shirt, threads
ground with dust as fine as flour
from the worrying,
worrying fingers
ravelling over this ancient grief.

Spring’s low lifting light
draws a fleeting thought
and those fingers flutter briefly
away just lightly, remembering
the pause of a dove’s
soft landing on sunlit rafters
before the dust comes
settling down, down
over this ragged heart.

Rachel Westfall
April 19, 2010


Oh where is she now? Well I’m gone, gone away
to hide from the demons that haunt me
You see, I’m just like a little brown mouse
hunkered down in my secret dark hole.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

As I rode on down the street

A man stood still at the edge of the curb,
head curved down, back quivering.

He gazed out over his rag-tag boots
with their dusty laces, ends so frayed
giggling ripples, a tremor
at the dandelions that pushed
with riotous, orange glory
through the crusted pavement

all along the side of the road.

Cars sped by, and trucks, ten wheels
spitting gravel with the viciousness
of angry serpents, rubber skins
black-treaded, steaming a hiss
with the new-found heat

of spring‘s reborn gold sun.

So he stood, that man in his well-scuffed boots,
face round and red as the second
full moon of autumn, giggling waves
while the delinquent tassled blooms
exhaled their innocently golden breath
pure and sweet as the bees’ first treasure

over the rising grey dust of spring.

Rachel Westfall
April 10, 2010

Thursday, April 1, 2010

One last time

The wind runs through this old rag,
seams worn thin by years of scrubbing
and the rough, coarse wash.
Kissed by sunlight, laundry pins
holding snug to squeaky line,
yet nothing heals the tangled edge
of towelling torn by sorrow.

Rachel Westfall
April 1, 2010