Wildforged—Paris Woodward-Ganz

the trees move closer to the house each day, 
at first i could see the horizon, a thin
line among the sky. 

the manor is empty and dust clouds my throat, 
i search for water and instead i find a rat
squeezing its way loose from the empty faucet.

i stare at him but let him go. we both
do what we must to survive.

i roam the halls and stare out windows. there is an apple in an empty storage closet.
i ate its rotten flesh and the worm inside. the hunger has grown to much to bear.

i swallow my shame. anger curls deep in my gut.

why did you leave me here?

(i am alone, i am lonely)

the trees are close enough to sing me to sleep. 
they keep me company outside my window

i shuffle decks of tarot cards and pull the tower from each one.
ivy creeps up my walls to swaddle me in my sleep

i do not move off my bed, i long for my mother

(she left me here, she did this)

Paris Woodward-Ganz is an 18 year old poet and spoken word artist, and a sophomore at the University of Oregon. He’s an English major with a minor in Creative Writing. When not writing or speaking at open mics, he can be found watching Criminal Minds or working on editing creative writing submissions for his job at a local paper. 

photo by Amos Bar-Zeev (via unsplash)