Wednesday, March 13, 2013


That woman walks
down the road of
stone cobbles, her soul
split in two. One
wanders the past,
the other
stalks the present.
The lament of sore feet
tells nothing
of the journey gone: bunions
have no tales to tell.
That woman’s past
comes face to face with
a stranger; her present
with a man she knows,
but all too well.
She weeps silent tears.
She knows no sorrow.

Rachel Westfall
March 13, 2013