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Rats and Snakes
H. W. Bryce
I was just play riding my play horse,
Galloping across the room, telling him
To giddyap, when the sharp tongue of
Grandma stopped me. “How dare you
Interrupt us? I am trying to talk to my
Daughter here.” I froze. I felt the skin
On my face tighten. She ordered me
To open the trap door and “get down
There until you learn how to behave!
Down,” she said. “All the way down.”
She slammed the trap door on me.
I was terrified in the pitch dark of the
Root cellar. I could feel the rats and the
Snakes coming at me. I scrambled up the
Steps to the top and cowered against the
Trap door, trembling. I was too scared to
Even say sorry. I didn’t dare ask to be let
Out.
But terror of the dark and the scratching
And squeaking panicked me, and I did beg.
“Let me out. Let me out. Please. Please.”
It seemed forEVER befor the trap door
Squeaked open a crack and mom’s face
Peered down at me. I scrambled to safety
Before she could open the door any farther.
— —
Little Wounds, Big Scars – Sensitive soul
–from my new book Seeds of Poetry, a mini memoir in poems.
You can purchase your copy at:
BLURB.CA
Seeds of Poetry
Seeds of poetry are planted in us when we are very young. The bad things that happen to us can scar us for life. But the good things can make us sing. These are some of the seeds planted in this poet’s early life. H. W. Bryce remembers some of each in this poetic volume, those that echo like ripples…
