Wind Walkers

Photo by Robin Alasdair Frederick Hutton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wind Walkers

You should not have come here alone

at this time of night, just dusk

with the rustles of things unknown going

skittering through your thoughts.

Your own footsteps in the rotting leaves and needles

multiply, taunt you to glance back

with held breath.

 

Alone, alone in the western woods

the wild trees in a riot of anger

lash at the sky with gnarled evergreen claws,

the wind infuriated.

You’ll never fall asleep.

 

And if you try,

the long scream of a distant

evening train

will cut through your dreams

like sharpened steel.

 

Alone with malicious shadows

that hover just above your waking

the wind will mark you

lean down and stroke your cheek

with withered hands.

Erin Poettcker spends most of her creative energy as principal of a little private school on the UBC campus. Whatever’s leftover comes out in periodic binge writing, usually poetry, but sometimes bad short stories to entertain her students.