Most Cruel of Fetters
by E. Blakely
I know that I lay upon rough-hewn rocks
Held fast by the most cruel of fetters
In a place where Time is measured by the drop.
The sound – a jarring ‘plink’
Deepening to a ‘plank’
Then a deep-throated ‘plonk’.
Full once more…and She is gone.
The terror returns…
Is She safe?
Will She return?
Will I hear Her shriek and call My Name before Her Step-Daughter comes to claim Her?…To restore Her to Our Youngest?
Does He run into Her arms, tearfully joyous, crying ‘Mommy, Mommy’?
Wolf-Son, if You lurk outside, waiting to greet Your Mother, please greet me as well.
Without the Love-of-My-Life, this torment holds no power over me.
Let it end.