Something About the Sound of Wind and Water by Pat West

A wedge of geese circles overhead,
honking as if asking for directions.

There’s a nearby creek I hear
but can’t see, and the solitary cries

of jays, and the low Coke-bottle whistle
of wind through tall trees.

At the top of the hill, there’s a bench
at what feels like

the edge of the world. A place
where earth speaks to sky.

I find it difficult to understand
but here the unfilled-in parts of me

become whole. In this spot,
I am not afraid

of love or fire or fault lines.
Nowhere else do I find

it possible to imagine
my own nonexistence

and feel okay.
Here I sit

empty-handed, taking
pleasure in the long, deep trough of silence

where the ghosts of those I love
linger on my tongue.

About the Author: Pat West


Pat Phillips West lives in Olympia, WA. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, her work has appeared in Haunted Waters Press, Persimmon Tree, VoiceCatcher, San Pedro River Review, Slipstream, Gold Man Review and elsewhere.

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