clawed feet

{a standoff with the crimson chair in the corner of granny’s parlor}

have a seat,
it beckons. but
i am not fooled.

the devil has sat
there, i am sure
of it. i can still
see the outline
of his tail on the
cushion. i’m quite
certain he ate the
orange one of gran’s
ancient hard candies –
see the scalloped dish,
slightly more empty?

i’m tempted
to run, but
i can’t do that,
either. so I shall
stand my ground
and just sit here
on the nice, safe
non-demonic couch.

prompted by quickly.

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6 Responses to clawed feet

  1. billgncs says:

    of me and my kin, it can be said we have webb feet. Such is a name…

  2. Oh my word!! I know just the kind! Expert gathering here and I love your POV! 🙂

  3. Shawna says:

    This reminds me of one sacred family memory in particular. It involves a hotel, an extended family vacation, and an evil chair that flipped my husband over backward onto the floor. It. Was. So. Awesome.

  4. This reminds me of that feeling of being scared stiff – frozen — when I was little. And thinking if I would just stay still nothing would happen, the fear would disappear, or at the very least I would not make the horrid thing happen that I was sure on the brink of happening. And that feeling of trying to think smarter than all of it, but being small and knowing somehow that I would be tricked by it all.

  5. Marie Elena says:

    Your imagination! Oh my! LOVE IT!!

  6. Candy says:

    I second that!

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