Greed ate compassion
out of the heart of the man.
His words reeked of rot—
gold only keeps teeth from death
if decay doesn’t rule the mouth.
“You can poke her for $15.” The man grinned, waving his bloodied stick.
“I’ll give you $300 for the stick… and some alone time.” The witch’s eyes remained on the cage, watching the creature that was woman and spider and Nature gone wild.
“Have your fill, miss. But no killing.” He handed me the stick. “Dead meat’s nothing.”
My will broke the cage,
but the storming was all hers.
She reclaimed her Self—
freedom is never a gift
one can get from another.
the wee notes…
– To read other installments, visit my Stories and Web Serials page. The tales are listed under Belle du Freak.
– The essence of this bit of tanka-prose first burst out of my muse’s skull in 2012. I rewrote it as a short story and kept it to myself because it didn’t feel right. Then, the other day, while discussing tanka-prose with Rommy, I realized that I was unhappy with the piece because it was never meant to be a poem or a story, but both.
– If interested, you can read the original poem, “Belle du Freak”, here. Be warned… in those days, poetry and I were just beginning to flirt. We hadn’t even kissed yet.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
a wee bit *that has nothing to do with this poem*…
– Haven’t joined October’s Heart-Bits with Magaly? Follow the link. Write with me.
– And, as always, my Luvs: Be wild. Be deliciously wicked. Be you.