In The Well

My father cinched the rope,
a noose around my waist,
and lowered me into
the darkness. I could taste

my fear. It tasted first
of dark, then earth, then rot.
I swung and struck my head
and at that moment got

another then: then blood,
which spiked my mouth with iron.
Hand over hand, my father
dropped me from then to then:

then water. Then wet fur,
which I hugged to my chest.
I shouted. Daddy hauled
the wet rope. I gagged, and pressed

my neighbor's missing dog
against me. I held its death
and rose up to my father.
Then light. Then hands. Then breath.

by Andrew Hudgins

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Comments (13)

I am continually surprised by the way most people read a poem bordering on perfection and grade it a 3 out of 10. Ignorance flourishes before our very eyes.
Read this before and read it again today and if anything I admire his storytelling skill even more than I did before. He knows the value of suspense- -be it from a rope or a story-line.
Its was a suspense poem, and the end was delightful
His taut lines echo the tautness of that rope and the darkness that must have lain over that little boy's heart at the stench and horror that inhabited that well. Incredibly well written.
Thoughtful writing enjoyable.....
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