The Cage Emma Wells

For years,

I have lived in a cage

with no metal bars or security cameras,

but within a caged mind,

self-imposed barriers lace my thoughts,

a choking rose reaches beyond its trellis,

turning in the sun,

growing beyond locked prison doors.

Startlingly, the walls are shrinking,

ceilings press from above

falling like gravity;

vines twist around my bed frame

winding open mouths,

chanting verdant promises,

whispering as I sleep,

asking me to borrow deep,

like them, feed off soil,

reject my humanity,

no longer hold a knife and fork.

In the bathroom,

the floral wallpaper is alive:

papery petals caress my skin

whilst I brush my teeth,

summoning my attention,

wishing to play,

catch me in floral arms:

a peony embrace,

enmeshed in fauna.

My head is a sunflower,

in the blanched mirror

resplendently beaming

yet membranes fall from each seed,

dropping to forgetfulness -

a chasm beneath me.

Creeping ivy winks to me,

at windows,

calling me outside;

I trail green-leafed skirts

like Nature’s veil behind me;

my feet start to root,

furrow down deep

into dark moist soil.

Trees surround as soldiers,

keeping me in place,

as life beyond changes:

a chorus of floral heads sing,

signalling a new regime,

holding biblical scripture

in palm-leaved hands.

Keep going around the house. Each room is more overgrown by nature. Eventually, the character turns into a plant/flower. Sunflower face? Nobody visits. The postman can’t reach the door as the garden is so overgrown. Locked in a rectangle of trees – the branches are bars; the trees themselves are prison guards. Needs more thought.

What changes first? Like Jekyll’s hand in the park. More syntax around trees, flowers, nature, soil is needed. Be inspired by ‘Beneath the Surface’.

Emma Wells is a mother and English teacher. Her poetry has been published with various literary journals and magazines. She writes flash fiction, short stories and novels. She is currently writing her sixth novel.