I got your special soil.
The instructions were scary:
handle only with gloves, do not breathe in.
But if that was what you needed....
I draped long strands of coloured beads
around your pots, one each,
set crystals on top of the earth
and bright statuettes nearby.
I conversed with you,
tended you with Reiki,
gave you both water and wine.
It wasn’t my fault.
I even brought you inside at night
to keep you safe from nibbling gekkos.
When I stopped, for the dirt on the floor,
I used magick instead. Not one bite!
But after a certain point
you not only failed to thrive,
you developed wet black marks
up your sides, a kind of rot.
So I took action. Now your carcases
lie in my cast iron cauldron
waiting to be ceremonially burned.
I’ll accord you that respect.
Was it because I never
took things one step further?
Did you crave intimacy,
that ultimate merging of selves?
Yes, I know your sacred purpose,
but I’m sorry, I don’t do that.
I’m such an addict! Therefore
restraint is my middle name.
I’m sorry you sickened
but I didn’t do it. Tomorrow
we shall have the burning time.
I won’t be sorry to finally get it done.
April PAD Challenge #3: Apology and/or Unapologetic.
Also submitted for dVerse Open Link Night #38
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.