Initially posted as a Twitter thread a long time ago. Revamped, Rewritten, and Republished for my new WordPress Blog.
My grandmother flies the night sky in a cauldron
Her broomstick dropping bombs on fascist encampments
She can cure hangnail tooth rot heartache and crotch louse
With the potions she brews in her chicken leg house.
My Mother perches atop a banana tree
The nail in her neck softening the face I see
Her white gown stained deep red from the man blood she spills
Fangs dripping, her laugh echoes as she drinks her fill.
My Sister waits for prey with a poisoned needle
For her favour they beg, cajole and wheedle
She tangles their stilled hearts in silk threads she weaves
Still inside they come, though never intact they leave.
I went to the crossroads where I lynched my brother
Whiskey in one hand and guitar in the other
My father, horned and ornery as an oak tree
Took and tuned my guitar, handed it back to me.
My ram horned wife seduced me at a bacchanal
As my punishment for the sin of playing well
Her tail beckoned. I followed her into the fire
My heart burned with lust for Meridiana’s daughter.
I shelter my son under a tall willow tree.
Never shall my family teach their tricks to he.
I tell him, grow tall, my son. Grow big and grow well.
Your boughs will reach Heaven, for your roots are in Hell.
My grandmother still lives in her chicken leg house
My sister still shares secrets and prey with my spouse.
My mother still drinks blood and laughs when I see her
I still have the guitar I got from my father.
One response to “Poem: Dark Roots”
[…] but as for scansion I was almost entirely clueless, so I gave up on it halfway. You can read it here, but today’s post has me trying to explain my thought process verse by […]