Phoebe

Phoebe

by Jean Nasser

The bright blue sky resembling sea
overshadowed the village's emptiness.
While Phoebe's eyes caught the green trees,
she placed her bird in a cage. Loneliness.

Out the door she ran, at ease.
Eleven years against cold breeze.
As dew ran down her fingertips,
she caressed the autumn leaves.

She gawked around.
She wished for roses.
For she only encountered violets
and a stick like Moses's

A thought of perfection
shot to her head
and a racket of desperation
approached her.

But; was it despair?
Or just an impulse?
She hatched for so long,
never doubting wrong.

She pranced.
She danced
towards the remnants
of the left open door.

This was a crucial moment
when the violets and the stick,
as it all became sullen,
crashed against the bricks

Footsteps were heard.
They sounded so stiff,
and Phoebe comprehended
it was the Old Cliff.

"What are you waiting for?"
Before his presence stood.
One, two, three, and four.
Those were the steps she took.

Her soft hair he pet.
"I can't do this." he rattled.
He was drenched in sweat,
tired of such a battle.

"Shut it!"
"It's so odd!"
"Kneel, scrod!"
He lost it all.

Oh, poor Cliff, while lying there
lifted the knife and screamed.
"She's your mother!" he dared.
Cold and damp it is.

"JUST DO IT!"
"NO!"
She glanced,
her mother moaned.

"Seize him!"
she cried
as she rushed
and freed her crow.

It wasn't part of the plan
to end the life of her mother.
but she was told, she was tired of her
so she thought: "Why not bother?"

She watched the eye of the old man
be brutally poked off.
His screams were Albert's cue to fly
away from all the blood.

While poor old Cliff, laid grieving,
an obstacle defeated.
That little brute, Phoebe
took advantage of the not yet completed

She lied on top
of her soon-to-be inert body
and Phoebe, without thinking,
stabbed her own mother.

Her voice filled the sky
as a sigh of relief was blown.
"Farewell, Mother. You deserved to die",
at last those words were thrown.

"I'm gonna fly away now!"
"Not anymore!" she heard.
As a sharp knife stung her heart,
she fell over her mother, dead.

Cliff rose from a puddle of blood
and ran through the foggy night.
But one thought barged in his soul;
Was killing his daughter right?