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Bastion
In our musty hole we burrow through walls, mildewed sheets hiding my throne from perverts. Sarah laughs at me: I am a boy without a penis. Reeking muck slides into my socks while Kool- Aid washes down sweaty jerky and sandy sandwiches. Orangebrook lost its oranges and its brook, but the muck is caked and dry and the thorns bleed. If I am strong, they will not see. The black bruise of love is like a mother’s fist. “Evil is just boredom repackaged.” I see through her eyes, watch the tainted blood erode her brain. In our fortress of mud we rule, its two-by-fours fortified by stone and nail as dusk approaches. But the swamp will reclaim our refuge, leaving Ash to dwell alone. Silent thunder lulls me to sleep while hail boils above my bed. Caras vemos, corazones no sabemos. Trees whisper in the dark of bleeding thorns and mother’s fists. -Ashley Rae Curran |