The Lion House
She took me down to the Lion House,
Caught my fingers in her moist little hand,
Led me along the twisting cliffs and craggy granite.
Through cold wet gouges in the earth
we clambered down, down, down
past the steel grey river rushing like arteries.
The silty blood flowing to a great
white wall of water
Thundering, roaring over the mouth of the Lion House.
Tawny wisps of hair clung to her small skull
when we pierced the fluid veil and entered the
deep, dank, dark
smelling of wood smoke and talcum, the Lion House.
The ceiling held me crouched and low in the blackness
while the wee ones whirled 'round roaring,
They gnashed sweet berries in their teeth,
scarlet pulp staining pointy chins and round dimpled cheeks.
Wild eyes pierced me with their light
and my tall frame folded
in on itself, shrinking, melting, twisting.
The hunger grew until I opened my tiny mouth,
Roared the roar of the wee ones,
And took my place in the hallowed halls
Of the Lion House.