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)