Friday, January 29, 2010

Sanctuary

Cards unfold, their message
lost
in the return

Nellie in her farmhouse
kneading bread, flour
to her elbows, white folds
smooth with yeast
the letter
tucked safe in the elastic waist
of her skirt-
envelope red, words yet unread
until tonight
when she’d have
a moment of sanctuary
away from the
in-and-out
door-slamming
chatter-boxing
of the young ones,
a flame-lit
kerosene-lit moment

Their message lost,
return to sender


Rachel Westfall
January 25, 2010

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

The dive

Slick hold of fear
Fear’s cold breath
Breathe a hand-span
Hands span an arrow
An arrow drawn swift
Swiftly into the water
Water’s quick grasp
Grasped in fear
Fear’s cold breath
Breath’s dying slide
Slide into the water

Rachel Westfall
January 25, 2010

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Tidbit of haiku

Soaring summer sky
Flames have swallowed starlit night
Speckled bird’s delight

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

A story

The pirate is bitter and sharp.
She has learned
to keep her worries close,
another layer of skin,
a tough pomelo’s rind.
Without tears
she holds her sister’s hand and the girl bleeds
and cries out, then silently
fights the high fear of infection.
This is how it is
with pirates.
The boat sways and rocks, her path
predictable as a wide-sea storm, sails swollen
with air and rain
and the flag
the jolly flag
is tucked
away
out of sight.

Rachel Westfall
January 13, 2010

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Out my window

Every morning, I get to watch the progression of winter from birth through to death. I can't show you. Let me just tell you about it, ok?

Out my window

Nothing holds your light
like the sun on winter’s breath
dyeing ruddy hills
impossible shades
drawn from imaginary palettes
streaked over moon-white canvas
refreshed by the ice witch’s
nightly cough
bitter moisture
clinging
tenaciously
to each sparkling twig

Rachel Westfall
January 6, 2010

Friday, January 1, 2010

Just a love poem

I would hold you, quite silently
until the moon whispers,
enough
and calls me through the forest’s
lonely night,
black leaves hanging still
as windless laundry strung across
a desolate creaky line.

I would hold you, so fiercely,
crack your bones
as the shout of birds rises
around us, deafening
whirling slippery
as a dust-devil slinking boldly
over summer’s hot-baked clay.

I would hold you, just as lightly
as a flower holds its petals
until one day
I glance down at my empty hands
and discover too late,
oh too late--
you are gone.

Rachel Westfall
January 1, 2010