Saturday, January 15, 2011

Cleaning house

There was a small hope of love
like a game between fickle birds
 
not those who mate for life
and grieve into bone-racked hunger
when one loses the other.
 
That small hope flickered
or was it more of a withering
 
a cactus bloom, pearled
and gaudy as an everlasting yet
turned to twisted crepe overnight?
 
Rachel Westfall
January 15, 2011

3 comments:

Miss Sadie said...

That Bears no relation to how Bear and I go about cleaning house. Or not cleaning house. Depending on your definition of clean.

Cactus bloom "turned into a twisted crepe overnight." Sad. Yes, the uncertainly of life. Sic transit gloria mundi.

Woman in a Window said...

It makes me wonder this, are we not all fickle? And, is this a modern condition? And, are there really those who mate for life
and grieve into bone-racked hunger
when one loses the other? Are there those? And will I be one of them?

xo
erin

Fireblossom said...

I like the way you did mate for life/crepe overnight.

Been there, done that, got the tee shirt. Again. *sigh*