Friday, September 14, 2012

A bad day

Swollen mushrooms, white caps
are sliced murderously by a swinging, errant cleaver. The butcher

is angry again, fought with his wife again, was mocked
by a gaggle of rowdy kids, street urchins
all laughing, skinny, basted
with greasy dust. 

Caps severed, gills fly
helplessly in the wake of slamming steel, spores
drifting voiceless through
the sterile vacuum 
of the butcher's stolid kitchen.

Rachel Westfall
September 14, 2012

Sunday, September 9, 2012


A flurry, tearing seed from hull
A flutter, a frenzy
Must hurry
Hurry hurry
Snow is coming, Snow is coming, 


in cold silence
but for a small, steady drip
groaning and shattering cold
over frozen, mud-green needles
needles of ice, needles of glass
needles of mindless
cruel cold

Rachel Westfall
September 9, 2012