Whenever my children laugh at
The Floor is Lava
I shudder
thinking of my own childhood–
the rubbish and refuse,
teetering on a Hellmouth,
perched to fall
in the place the bad people descend.
The lava basement
awaiting the kids who didn’t
obey their parents,
repent their sins,
do their chores,
evangelize.
Preacher said
sin was more serious than we realized.
And at eight, I wondered at the lake’s size,
the length of the day of darkness
where the unrighteous were consigned.
But it wasn’t burning flesh,
festering worms,
gnashing teeth
that bothered me.
I held hot plates and didn’t blink.
And when Karie pierced my ears
with a needle in her basement,
I felt nothing on my iceless lobes.
No, it was the charred soul,
the idea that eternal suffering
is due a ten-year-old,
one who didn’t close her mouth
when she ate,
or wouldn’t pledge allegiance
to the right deity,
which was a matter of fate.
I should have learned sooner that
fallacious thinking is a mistake.
©2023 | K. Hartless
Artwork: Miniature from ‘Hours of Catherine of Cleves’
c.1440, illustrated manuscript by Master of Catherine of Cleves (active c.1435–1460)
GloPoWriMo #19: One common feature of childhood is the monsters. The ones under the bed or in the closet; the odd local monsters that other kids swear roam the creek at night, or that parents say wait to steal away naughty children that don’t go to bed on time. Now, cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you (if only a little bit) today.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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