Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Once you swam with me

I could write about how the night air
moved and shimmered, enveloping
the polluted river in a silky fog.

How our skin itched and crawled when we
pulled ourselves up onto the rocky bank,
and rubbed ourselves raw
with stiff, line-dried towels.

How our clothes clung and rolled up
against our clammy skin as we tugged them on,
and how we scrubbed our arms energetically
to try and tame the flocks of goose pimples
that hovered there.

I could write about who you were, then,
or where you've gone.

Or I could write about nothing at all.

Rachel Westfall
January 4, 2012


10 comments:

erin said...

somewhere in between what you write and what you don't write, whole worlds are made and perhaps destroyed(?) certainly story is.

xo
erin

RachelW said...

I think so too, Erin. I want to hear the rest of the story, but I wasn't able to grasp it just yet.

Elisabeth said...

So so beautiful, Rachel. It gives me goose bumps to read, so resonant with longing and loss.

Kat Mortensen said...

So much is said without saying it.
I love the title.

Joseph Harker said...

I hope not nothing; I hope you aren't tempted by writing nothing. This is wonderfully tactile and the sounds plink into the ear... good to see you back. :)

christopher said...

Later We Moved Away

Why we swam in crap
I'm not sure, polluted streams
were the only ones
we knew in those days.

(A Small Stone to come, thank you dear)

Char said...

Beautiful! I love the feeling of 'knowing' it, without it having been said. (But, still wanna read more.)

Rob-bear said...

So very clear, the image. So very touching, the feel of it. Sigh.

Blessings and Bear hug for the new year.

Moanerplicity said...

When you 'write'about it, you make it all come so vividly alive. The words/experiences become immediately FELT experiences. That is indeed a GIFT, my friend!



I've chosen your blog for the Liebster Blog Award! Come to my house to check it out.


One.

Lin

Rachel Westfall said...

Ahh, thank you, dear ones!