General Poetry posted November 23, 2017

Chapters:

...30 31 -32- 33...

Exceptional

ekphrastic free verse haiban

A chapter in the book Selections For Book Project

Home Sweet Home

by michaelcahill

Home Sweet Home   The Widow Willoughby knows worms ... better than most she knows they are patient and ticklish she admires their resolve   I remember dear Gammy ... the old cottage where she raised us. The world wasn't allowed inside, only us. She had the keenest toys and the best stories. I never knew my mommy, only the tale my father told. Stockings hung by the fireplace treasures untold reside inside as long as you don't peek ... Gammy told a different story. I believed her; Father was mean. He said mommy didn't care about us, ran off, never looked back. Gammy says he made her disappear and that was all she could tell us. She said mommy loved us and to never believe anything else. Father died when we were all visiting Gammy. We were asleep and he was taken away before we woke up. That was fine with us. He was mean. Gammy said, he just up and died. Poof. a street urchin hides behind a tree in a city park watching a family have a picnic he sighs ... but he doesn't know a damn thing We became orphans for a moment ... then we became Gammy's. Grandpa died before we were born. "He's in his garden", Gammy would say. "dancing with the worms". Then she'd laugh, and we'd laugh too, since it tickled her so.   Mr. Willoughboy's garden was his prideful joy but a garden can be an evil deceitful place fragrance in abundance may cover a stink blankets of morning glories to greet the day can make festive a house of horrors rows and rows of riotous coloured flowers        an excuse to dice and impale industrious worms with a sharpened spade endlessly tilling the soil   A young girl, newly found to womanhood, feels the blossoming surge through her. Her mind tries to understand what it all means. Sometimes a young lad will take her fishing in a canoe on the river. Other times an older gentleman will show her how to catch a fish, clean it, cook it and serve it to a man.   Raphe Willoughby offered many a deep red rose to the frequent blushing nubile passersby "Mind the prickers" he'd hiss with surly charm   The Misses would not dare cry out no, the repercussions were unthinkable whimpering became the music ot the Willoughby household and silence its counterpoint an unnoticed dirge   even the birth of a son barely drew a cry from her breath fear often looks brave   A trembling pair of hands accepts a new life. It is placed gently therein and begins to cry. "I am your father" a man says as he looks in astonishment at this small creature in his hands. Echoes of screams fill his head and the feeling of helplessness begins to lessen. He looks at the women rising up from the bed to approach him. She grasps the child from his hands with supreme confidence and a loving smile. He backs up in awe. He can't fathom what it takes to be her.   sons learn and become husbands and whimpering is contagious it seems the dirge continues   The Mrs. found her own use for the garden the soil was always well tilled and turned-- ripe for an easy planting First Mr. Willoughby then The Widower Willoughby Jr. Both found themselves in partnership-- secretly in cahoots with vengeful worms tickles can titillate or delight or torture even a worm knows the difference   *****************************************   And now there were stories to read to grandchildren snug and secure surrounded by the loving arms of the one person who cared without restriction who loved and made sure love won the day   the fire crackled and giggled with kindling of bloody clothes and smelly tobacco pipes and memories memories are like stories by a warm hearth when life is good or they can be tales of horror when alone abandoned ghosts of gardeners whose garden now embraced them hovered in the smoke but did not haunt anymore   home was now                 sweet home