Monday, August 23, 2010

As the nights grow longer

As the nights grow longer and the dew
falls heavy, soon resembling frost, we move
inside from the tent at night, but now

I cannot sleep, suffocated by these pressing,
airless walls. The tent’s chill maw

hangs dark and empty in the lonely yard,
chewing memories of shivers and stories

of the summer bedtime ritual, the warming
of the blankets with our own sleek sun-rubbed limbs.

Rachel Westfall
August 23, 2010

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Rain

When you march through the mud
in your golden shoes,
then tear them off
smeared, tossed
like spoiled treasure
onto the rich green,
emerald grass
 
When you run, toes splayed
into the river where
speckled fish breeze by
startled into trembling quake
by the rough tremor
as you break the thin membrane
of the sun-warmed,
sun-kissed shallows
 
When you find hidden thorns
in the berry jumble,
pierced thumb sharing blood
with the sweet ripe reds
swelling bees, fuzzy hum
curiously taste
your slow, fresh laughing presence
 
Rachel Westfall
August 8, 2010