Poetry By Shell Walsh

Edmund Garman CC




Longview

I admit,
I helped 
find the cassette
The Father hid
on top of his
bookshelf.

He read the lyrics 
to “Longview”
and decided that
she would be corrupted.

As a half child,
she could
already sense
where everyone
and everything
was hiding.

I held the back of
the kitchen chair
as she stood
tenacious and tiptoed
reaching for rebellion,
replacing the devil’s music
with a duplicate of
Ace of Base
she was gifted for her birthday.

That night,
the house slept
deeply.

Dreaming into
oblivion,
apathetically unaware
of our angst.

But the sinners were
still awake.

We raised the volume
on her Walkman 
so loud
our ears bled 
and begged
for silence.

I raised my phantom fist,
punching through the
twilight
as she stood in a circle,
swinging her body
in a frantic fucking
frenzy.

Her fury
outshined
every star
and our darkness
grew
to match 
her intoxicating 
energy.

The angels
hid behind their wings
while she called the corners
and channeled every
stifled scream.

She invited
the incubi
who watched from
her closet
to dance alongside
of her as
sweat glistened
off her alabaster
shoulders
and sparkled in
the moonlight.

The demons declined
politely.

They could taste
the residue from her rage
in the air
and knew
she couldn’t be
overpowered
tonight.






Ice Cream

She sat at the weathered 
kitchen table
while The Father
and his friend
commented on her body
blossoming
and becoming rounder.

I heard the crack in her heart
widen
as they said her hips had.
I felt her confidence drop
into the pit of her
little girl belly
and caught every tear
that threatened to fall.

The Father laughed 
and said,
“It must be the second helpings
of ice cream you have 
been having”.

I watched her
look into his eyes.
I read her thoughts,
“Why is he smiling at me?”.
And so I 
darkened
as her
sadness
grew.

Handfuls
of The Mother’s
diet pills
only irritated 
her anxiety,
burning stomach lining
and esteem.

She would slip
bites of dinner
to the dog
and filled napkins
with mouthfuls
of mistakes.

I held her long 
hair in my haunted hands
as she knelt
in front of the toilet,
praying for the
strength to
stick her fingers
down her throat.

She couldn’t do it.

​


​Shell Walsh She/her is a mother, disabled artist, and licensed therapist who writes to heal.  She has previously published a debut poetry collection “Hallways A Journey Through Grief, Trauma, and Love”. Shell’s work has also been featured in Death Wish Poetry Magazine, Bloodlust Magazine, Persephone Literary Magazine, Flare magazine, and Viper After Dark Magazine.