My father cinched the rope, a noose around my waist, and lowered me into the darkness. I could taste my fear. It tasted first of dark, then earth, then rot. I swung and struck my head and at that moment got another then: then blood, which spiked my mouth with iron. Hand over hand, my father dropped me from then to then: then water. Then wet fur, which I hugged to my chest. I shouted. Daddy hauled the wet rope. I gagged, and pressed my neighbor's missing dog against me. I held its death and rose up to my father. Then light. Then hands. Then breath.
This is a small poetry club that started as a poetry email exchange between two friends. Our goal is to read a poem everyday, and this blog is one way to help keep us accountable. There is only one valid rule in poetry club: there are no rules in poetry club. Read any poem, in any order, with any or no interactions. You decide. We only suggest you read poetry!
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Almost all these poems are about death.
ReplyDeleteLots of thens in this poem.
I'm not sure about this one, it seems incomplete. I'm kind of asking myself, so what? Did the boy/girl overcome the fear? But wait... Now I can see a metaphor for the child being lowered to the dark by a parent and then rising to the light.