Blood, Screams and Wild Woods

A mother? No.
I haven’t had one
of those in years.

I birthed myself real
out of the belly of a beast
who dined on loved flesh
and snacked on lies.

Of course, I remember
the day. I was born of blood,
screams and wild woods.
I was eleven and a moon
and wholly crimsoned.

There used to be a mother,
once upon a time. It’s true.
But she was eaten, bit by bit,
by ravenous plot monsters
that haunt ever afters.

Yes, my grandmother still lives
in me, written inside my skull,
bewaring me of lies and wolves.

.
written for Beyond the Ever After – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 11)
and
linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Red, by C. Madison-Peters“Red”, by C. Madison-Peters
(find more of her yummy work on her website and on Instagram)

55 thoughts on “Blood, Screams and Wild Woods

  1. Aw, sad and acute opening stanza. And what a dismal way to go “she was eaten, bit by bit,
    by ravenous plot monsters that haunt ever afters.”
    Excellent job at retelling the tale. Love it! ♥

  2. the day. I was born of blood,
    screams and wild woods.
    I was eleven and a moon
    and wholly crimsoned

    A whole lot of blood spattered washed crimson all over with a din accompanying the birth. Must have been a rough birth entry into the world. Whew! It wears one thin thinking about it, Magaly!

    Hank

  3. I birthed myself real
    out of the belly of a beast
    who dined on loved flesh
    and snacked on lies.

    This is so eerie and powerful! I so enjoyed the vivid images here ❤
    Beautifully penned.

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

  4. “ravenous plot monsters” made me chuckle. I wonder if they ate her the way zombies do, brains first. 😀 No wonder the protagonist became such a self reliant young woman.

  5. Oh this really bites.. love the thought of a child coming back to haunt you… and everything crimson have always been something that I love…

    like the court of the crimson king

  6. What an exceptional poem. here is a speaker who has made peace with her roots and revels in the powers they have given to her.

  7. This sounds like my story, too concerning mother and grandmother. For me, a wound that never really heals. Your poem is so visceral…deep rooted feelings in these descriptions. Moving.

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