Tuesday, November 30, 2010


So I lap the small seeds
from your hand,
that delightful reek
of you a tingle
in my brown speckled
nostrils, whiskers flaring
into a shower,
a tentative shower
of white spun gold

Rachel Westfall
November 30, 2010

Monday, November 29, 2010

Gift basket

Lace winged fairy

A plush smile

This little box of wood
intricate, adorned with
a medieval heart

Chocolates stolen from
a childhood memory
of sweet crackling malt

A spilled rainbow of tissue

Such a plump handful of beads
facets laughing their shock
of cracked blue and green

All entrapped in clever strands
of some light stem
braided Celtic bold

Rachel Westfall
November 29, 2010

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Old man

If I could lay my hands
on you, I’d scrub you pink
in a steaming tub of froth
then run my rough tongue
over your spine in steady strokes
with all the love and tenacity
of any mother cat.

Your ears sit closed,
the accumulated wax of decades
shutting me out until
my footsteps fade
with muffled thumps away
down the worn carpeted hall.
Rachel Westfall
November 6, 2010

Monday, November 1, 2010

Your bright new high

You’ve found a way
to carve knotwood
into balsam wings,
and there you glide
all grins above the street

even your ragged cuffs
stay clean now, as
your giggle swells
on your bright new high

your eyes graze me and
I wonder what you see
since they throw off
shards of blue and green,
no hint refracted
from my bitter grime

Rachel Westfall
November 1, 2010