Simon Says: This is Not a Game
All I heard was shouting And whips against bare skin Their orders: March! No one cried, Tears becoming icicles In the dead of winter Walking on decayed soil Mother’s ashes Somewhere Beneath my feet. Daddy called it a game Just follow orders Like Simon Says But Simon never stroked my back With the blood Of my sister. The wind choked My fragile spirit Pressing with tepid bitterness Against the back of my throat A tease of warmth Blood-warmth. Spiritless We marched Away from destruction So little still standing. Our journey: Abandoning memories Arriving. If they did not kill us first. Mirissa D. Price The doctor said she would live in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, crippled by pain; that was thirteen years ago. Instead, Mirissa D. Price is a 2019 DMD candidate at Harvard School of Dental Medicine, spreading pain-free smiles, writing through her nights, and, once again, walking through her days. Follow Mirissa's writing at http://mirissaprice.wordpress.com.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
The Ekphrastic Review
COOKIES/PRIVACY
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies. Opt Out of CookiesJoin us: Facebook and Bluesky
May 2025
|