Thursday, February 17, 2011


I’m not the one.

There is naked air falling
over the rough ground,
frost-heaved into longing
and regret, the sorrow

of small birds, plump
and frosty-beaked.

There are wolves, rough
scavengers, grizzled,
thin, silent as lost pups,
unbirthed through
the hungry dark months.

There is an empty place
in the land, that hollow
where we put
what we thought we had;

the earth has eaten love.

Rachel Westfall
February 17, 2011


Fireblossom said...

It will do that sometimes. I've seen it. Felt it.

Elisabeth said...

Exquisite, Rachel, for me especially, 'the sorrow of small birds' Thankyou.

Rick said...

how interesting rach
there was no need to fill
the first and last lines said all
that lay between

Julie said...

Oh, Rachel! You brought tears to my eyes. This is so powerful. I love a poet with heart, and yours is huge.

namingconstellations said...

It's tough to put that exact emotion into words without sounding trite or whiny. Kudos for being neither.

("silent as lost pups, unbirthed through the hungry dark months" - superb and wrenching)

greenlee said...


christopher said...


My heart is torn. Thin
ribbons flutter in the breeze
of your wan distance.
The sun through tattered
mist illumines my stammer
as I try saying
your name this last time.
The dust has eaten the love
that colored our days.

emptygarden said...

just beautiful..angry and raw.