Monday, October 11, 2010

Back at the house

You sit heavy at the kitchen table
shoulders rounded.
A rough cough, nothing to say yet.
I put the steaming mug of tea beside your hand
where it sits untouched until it’s cold as whiskey.
 
I cut down the apple tree, you tell me.
It’s all firewood now.
 
My envy pulls sharp at your wallow of grief,
at the depth of your sorrow
for her errant tangle of mistletoe hair,
her limbs all askew in the field.
 

Rachel Westfall
October 11, 2010

6 comments:

christopher said...

Oh. My. God.

It's perfect!

I'll be back soon.

christopher said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
christopher said...

Cutting Her Down

I've come in. The cold
is not only the fall frost
but in me as well.
The season gives me
this cough, has for years, ever
since I was a boy.
The tree showed a blight
I had to cut it down, dead wood
all tangled in mud
not yet the frozen
grit of winter's grip on us.
We have lost the fruit
and I just struggle
with the grief I feel cutting
down our apple trees.

I sit and after a bit I say,

I cut her down.
She's all firewood now.

RachelW said...

Poor apple tree....

jozien said...

:) i would love to join in
unasked i stumble over
fresh cut branches
that i don't even see
my hair tangled
my boots drag in mud
i laugh and chatter
about who knows what
as sudden as i came
i'm gone a again
and then..
you two look at eachother
and just smile and both think;
holy crap what was that?

Rob-bear said...

It's such a sad tale, Rachel.

Fortunately, Bears don't cut down trees. We love them too much.