Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Poisoned Well

She’s down at the poisoned well again

pulling up another bucket
of slick black death

It’s as if she doesn’t remember
returning again and again

yet she does
she does
remember
feeling the sick sharp taint of danger
filling stomach and veins
hiking adrenaline
pushing every hair erect
every muscle taut
a dark admixture
of pleasure and pain
fear and arousal
lifting the spirit from the body
to some height of vertigo
knowing
there will be a long fall

that the rush will fail
that no good will come of it
in the morning light
for there are consequences
evacuating the belly
onto the ground
shivering horrible consequences
from the impact

yet

when the twilight comes
and the moon cuts a white swath
across the poisoned well
it still calls
offering another drink

and there she bends
struggling with the rope
drawing up the pail
thirsty

Old Bucket Hung Up Valerie Everitt

Old Bucket Hung Up
Valerie Everitt

(c) RCGA 2015

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Comments on: "Poisoned Well" (1)

  1. The diction here is entirely arresting and masterful. Fantastic poem.

    Like

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