rekindle your spirit(s).
reclaim your peace with this simple method: happy hibernation by murder.
ugh that stench.
reek and rust.
mold and blood.
god‘s forbidden fruit.
it’s Thursday afternoon.
not yet rush hour.
you could still leave undetected.
scratch your way out of that hell hole.
your tears have long dried - it’s the cry of the howling wind making your body itch and weep.
mocking you. making your shoulders slump in defeat.
but then you remember to breathe. and you remember the words that led you here -
“Mindfulness gives you time. Time gives you choices. Choices, skillfully made, lead to freedom.” - Bhante H. Gunaratana
you feel it crawling up your back.
breathing down your neck.
humming a melody that claws its way into your throat. choking carefully, bending blissfully.
smile - you’re free.
a peace traded for what was dear and fear.
how will you get rid of him? she dares to ask.
remember that silo mom used to drag us into when we both were kids? always full. like it was always prepared for its frequent visitor. cozy, comfortable corn.
she insisted it was for our own protection; that she’d throw herself into his way, so that we won’t have to. a seemingly endless climb up that rusty steel ladder. hurry now, child, before he gets back, she’d yell.
and then she just ran off. a „be good“ on the back of a receipt was all she left behind.
it was a Thursday afternoon.
not yet rush hour.
you see the silo standing right there in the field. not moving an inch despite the relentless wind. the scourging rain. not long now and it‘ll be muzzling snow.
high time for hibernation.
let them spirits rest. take your power back. free your mind. chicken soup for the soul.
ugh that stench.
wheat, rust, reek.
mold and blood from when you were trying to scratch your way out of that hell hole.
let him rot.
god‘s forbidden fruit.
side note:I wrote this…short story? Poem? Short poem-like story? Whatever-it-is in the waiting room to see my gynecologist. Yearly checkup (go, make that appointment RIGHT NOW!).
A children’s book in front of me - cows, chicken, pigs and dogs on its cover, two kids smiling in front of a cozy looking farm house and a grain silo in a corn field.
Wait… didn’t this week‘s
poetry haul challenge include the word „silo“? Well, it also included „peace“ and „free“ and “rights” which would give me an opportunity to write something…meaningful.nah… silo it is… now… how to weave it into a weird little story…?
Despite its gory nature - I felt at peace with myself when I finished it on my way back home on the bus.
Truly, like that chicken soup for the soul.
Now, get that worried look off your face - quite frankly, your weird obsession with true crime podcasts is a little disturbing, too :)
Love and light,
Julie x
Yeah, I like the way you write. I love this short-poem-story style. I like to have room for my imagination to wonder. You set the tone so well and gave me enough to chew on--or to gnaw at me.