Rachel Andrews - Poetry

10/02/2026

Often it's the hard and painful things that get written about, but moments like this, the sweet and connected, are equally important and remind me of the good in the world and the adventure of being human.

09/16/2026

09/16/2026

Drop by the 700 block this weekend at Old Washington Street Festival and find a poet!

09/12/2026

Oh man - It seems I will have to revisit this posting system tomorrow, or another day when I have the will for it. Currently the poem sections drop off when shared if they are attached to a video/social media poster. Perhaps it would have worked from a personal account?!? I'm not sure. But please enjoy this format for your viewing pleasure, even if it doesn't work when shared.
Reach out with questions.

09/12/2026

On this day, September 11th 2026, I invite you to dip into my poem Flight Dust 2026, which originates in the dust of 9-11 and which I began in September 2025 and wrote over the next 9 months. It is spread over 12 posts with each one showing a clip/photo of an influence for that section. I love this country and value the land on which I stand. Flight Dust 2026, is from that complex, but passionate experience of being here, in this place, moving into the stories of this country, and memories of 9-11, which happened 25 years ago today. You will see that I propose the word ourstory to replace his/herstory. You will also notice the long arm of Langston Hughes’, The Negro Speaks of Rivers, which I also first met in 2001 when I heard him read the poem on the poetry CD, Poetry Speaks, which I had purchased to begin teaching. I have returned to this poem many times over the years, the idea of the rivers carrying stories resonates strongly with me. From my eurythmy training you may notice the gestures of Despair and Grief in the two bystanders in the massacre of the fifth cantos, Field Trip. Have you ever cried out in the gesture of Despair, neck tight? Throw your head back and hear the primal sounds that come from you. See them in the Picasso painting that is paired with it.

My fragmented story: After returning from my eurythmy graduation trip to Dornach, Switzerland in the summer of 2001, I took United Flight 93 in late August to San Francisco to start my first eurythmy teaching job at Summerfield Waldorf School and Farm in Santa Rosa, CA. Only a few weeks later, that flight # was crashed into the hills of PA when the crew and passengers rebelled against the terrorists onboard. From 2005-7, I commuted to NYC via the Newburgh-Beacon Ferry, where the ferry captain told me about the day he was part of the flotilla that evacuated the survivors of 9-11. In 2016 in emerging social media, I was struck by the idea of a marketplace for blood and the value of different blood judged by the attention of the world. I was part of the viral ‘check in’ to Standing Rock showing solidarity with the ingenious people defending the Missouri River from DAPL. These things all mixed in me and came out as this poem.

I am grateful for its clarity and endeavor to live its virtue.

09/12/2026

VII: the offering

dipping down
I filled up the bottles I had brought
took them first to the Himalayas
poured one into Bhagirath
and another into Alaknanda
then
on to the birth places
of the rivers of the Americas
to the Andes and to Lake Itasca
checking in at Brower’s Spring
then
onto Africa
to Lake Tana
and to Kagera
to Europe’s Lake Toma
New Zealand’s Mount Ruapehu

tired, I reached
Cwm Dale
land of my flesh
crunching through the bracken
up the winding sheep paths
my hand slipping
slicing my palm
the cut oozing
as marveling
I recovered the remaining
thimble from the market
and mingled the contents
by my sliced hand
into the gurgling source

the damp earth
of my people




PoeTRY journey for the 25th commemoration of 9-11
Part 11/12

09/12/2026

V: the field trip

meanwhile
color coordinated t-shirts
traverse the gardens
as children explore
patchworks of texture
scent and sound

what if bombs
punctuated
this glorious day?
throwing up
the small bodies
then shattering
them scattering
them over the grass
shoes and backpacks
sent beyond
the verge
amassing by
the picnic tables

no structured piles of gold teeth
no spectacles or harvested organs
just bits of bodies
and screams
dissipating
in the air

a parent chaperon might emerge
late from the bathroom
straggler in tow
buckle to the ground
throwing his head back
capturing human anguish

feel the stretch of his throat
releasing the sound

aaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh

now you do it

aaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh

ancestral wails suckling

again

twisted heads of Guernica
binding despair to the breeze
to reverberate
around the planet

simultaneously
the blood sprays
a volunteer crowd counter
back to the blast
seated by the path
clicking her tally

note how
when she stands and turns
to scan the red rain
that her body grows limp
eyes downcast
dropping the clicker
arms heavy by her side

see a tear come
drop
more salt
winding
its way
into the loam
rich with humus
thick with clay
heavy with sand

our toes transported
through the dust
to the
market
to
buy
blood




PoeTRY journey for the 25th commemoration of 9-11
Part 9/12

Guernica; Pablo Picasso
Museo Reina Sofía; 1937

05/26/2026

Hard to believe I wrote this Memorial Day Weekend 2025. What a year! I love the simplicity of this poem with its alert imagery. The hair shadow crackling. Perhaps it should be cackling too!
Here I am reading it on YouTube:
https://youtu.be/k5Z4XqmNDLk?si=95JchTT1EGBGdaPF
And Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/track/4cAtY6smazvNvmasydFFAY?si=bde18d67bcd04468

05/13/2026

I've been deep in the trenches of a poem about fallout from 9-11 in relation to the loss of a friend and the sea of anonymous blood spilt and our collective responsibility to it. My writing for this has been deeply influenced by these two incredible poems and their respective performances by Langston Hughes and Carl Sandburg Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site . I've been living with these performances for almost 20 years now having bought, and still owning the original Poetry Speaks CD anthology. Such gems. Nothing like hearing the voice of another in your heartbeat. That's what (good, rhymical) poetry is like for me.

3.8K likes, 119 comments. "Langston Hughes reads The Negro Speaks of Rivers"

04/29/2026

I have been slacking off and has almost finished. Did you add a poem to your playlist yet? Closet Light is about how easy something often is when you are finally ready for it and The Cup is about how the emotions around menstruation are shifting as I age and my body prepares for its spiritually fertile time (the age of the crone), releasing its physical fertility (the age of the maiden/lover/mother).
Here are the links to the audio:
Closet Light
https://youtu.be/TX0XlOJGPNI?si=PPkAQxbHhCTaycwm
https://open.spotify.com/track/1eCRAh8wHXXhcjK6uStMIn?si=8678e3f2f4b343ef
The Cup
https://youtu.be/sdssaOmu0Zo?si=iZLOSfccgfKUjSUj
https://open.spotify.com/track/4D9DIj4aXVsbos5SdNgmqi?si=1fdb25b327b04f73