Friday, February 26, 2010

Chickadee child

Born, she was, like a chickadee,
in a bed of moss spun through
with strings of tinsel,
salvaged thread by thread
from a discarded tree
in the last long twisted
throes of winter. A blessing,

a charm, her mother wove
around her, spell by spell,
to ward away the pernicious grime
and lecherous looks
of this ill-fated world. The child

grew long and lean and brown,
running faster than the boys,
their feet clumsy, stomping over
the mud-packed ground, until
one sweet-talked a kiss from her
behind the largest tree
where none could see. She ran,

again, with the skill of a deer,
but she couldn’t run
quite fast enough
to escape this sordid town.
So here she is, to this very day,
dreams caught snug-tight
in cobwebs build of dust,
grime-streaked children
of her own bound meticulously,
one by one, with charming spells,

and though you’ll never learn
their names, please know
How each and every sun kissed child,
lays his, her head each shadowless night
upon a down-soft pillow, a chickadee’s bed
so carefully spun with gold.

Rachel Westfall
February 26, 2010

Saturday, February 13, 2010

love letter to haiku

If you could say just five words to me,
what would they be? Would you remind me fondly of
the chickadee’s lazy morning song?

In seven words, just seven, would you tell me how
in deep forgotten glades
wind traces its secrets in skeletal leaves?

With five words left to you, a slow exhale
would you spell the mountain’s sacred path in stone,
to help me find the way?

Rachel Westfall
February 13, 2010

Saturday, February 6, 2010

hiding-place

Secret
dark place
safe in the back
behind
the old woolens
between dusty boxes
under coats hanging ill-used
smelling faintly
of long-time-ago walks
dried leaves
mothballs
here
you won’t find me, nobody
will find
me
at all

Rachel Westfall
February 6, 2010

Monday, February 1, 2010

Image prompt with contest @Cat's blog

There is an image prompt at Cat's place. If you coment, she'll put your name in a draw, and you could win one of her glorious prints. Go on. I know you want to.

secret breath of night
held in winter's icy grasp
exhale, distant spring