It's Still Life

Hog Trough Confessional

I’ve returned to Hog Trough Lane with a secret rewoven from old strands. 

To hurt is to steal, I said to the boy who once showed me his father’s hog knives glinting in the hayloft —the barn smelled of slop and honeysuckle, and the hogs were grunting hymns as they rooted through rotting grain. 

Crows perched on a beam, tilted their heads, black Mass priests trading absolution for the way my breath hitched when the boy pressed my palm to the warm flank of a pregnant sow. 

Be well, little mother, I whispered, but Baudelaire’s line about love and vinegar of the gods replaced the memory.

Outside, rain began its interrogation. The crows dissolved into the storm, leaving me with this: some thefts are so precise, you’ll spend a lifetime pretending you weren’t the one who handed over the keys.

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Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “Strand”  and dVerse Poets Prosery including the phrase “to hurt is to steal” although I’ve not linked it to dVerse because the word count exceeds 144, and in my opinion every extra word has earned its place.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.