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.

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.