The Awakening

May 1, 2012

In a cabin wrapped in snow, snowflakes melt upon my toe
Windows whistle melodies, vermillion embers softly glow.

As I rock upon my chair,  sleepy embers start to flare,
Windows flap and shake their dresses, then a creak atop the stair.

What oddity is this?  My relaxed hand becomes a fist
There's no one else inside this cabin.  Yet I hear a subtle hiss.

 Seeking comfort in my tea, my hands now shaking vigorously
Clasp the steaming porcelain and sense a cold atrocity .

Command my  eyes to look away, although they fight and disobey.
Pupils creeping to the left  witness smokey mists at play.

Shapeless figures gather round. I feel  my chest begin to pound.
Like the embrace of iron chains, Doom has his hold upon me now.

Then a whisper in my ear tells me someone close is near,
asks me,  "Where do children huddle", sends me waves of primal fear.

And I stop.

My fingers let my tea cup drop.

I stand without will.

And walk toward the window sill.

Outside I see a pile and I fear it's something vile
Alas, covered by snow.  Curiosity does rile.

Shoeless and without shawl I run outside toward the stall.
I dig without a shovel 'til my fingers start to pall.

And pall is what I find of the most atrocious kind.
My own brood lay underneath and stabbing memory floods the mind.

 

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© 2020  Art and Poetry by Moonie Garcia.  All rights reserved.

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