New poem: Hutch of Were
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Hutch of Were
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2023-04-05
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***
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Wind advisory
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this evening,
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tearing through the trees.
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Blizzard comes to reave
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the branches, depositing
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them at my bedroom window
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like a bird's offering.
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Long the hours grow.
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Snow-hued fingertips
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from nails too short to pierce skin
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under pressure, digging in,
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will soon be overtaken
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by claws the hue of what would flow
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if my nails were any length grown.
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If your eyes are nebulas,
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then earthly suns are in my scleras,
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red giants sliced through the middle to get to the core.
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Miracle the sheets haven't been torn
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to shreds yet, so many curved blades
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that could readily eviscerate
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but lie relaxed, tail curled around my legs.
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Rib cage aches
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right above both sides of my waist.
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When the ribbons fully overtake,
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two more limbs will be there to support my weight.
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"Your daughter is a polymorph
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with two known alternate forms.
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There is no cure and not yet a treatment.
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The state
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mandates
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she either accept indefinite time sedate
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or the highest security of imprisonment.
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I'm sorry. I know
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you wanted to take her home."
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Had to take the check from the IRS
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I'd rather have spent on things more frivolous
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and wire sensors near my room for security
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somehow without my parents knowing.
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Knock on my door after early warning,
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shifted back before doorknob
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is gazed on.
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I've never had to pay attention
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to mindfulness, but now dampened
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emotions will save me from a prison.
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Suffer from the State, or hide
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in the confines
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of your room all the time,
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or be put in a coma for the rest of your life.
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Damn fate
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is the same.
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Close my eyes and let the ribbons overtake.
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Roll off the bed, stand before moonlit mirror.
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There's a monster on the other side. And I want to know her.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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