Prosery: Enigmas


After Paul, after everything that happened, I was like a bear in hibernation. Oh, I went through the motions. I walked, talked, ate when there was food, but I was a shell with nothing inside. No, that’s not precisely true. Buried deep waiting to sprout, the seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart, and after the war it did. An entire crop grew, fertilized in blood, in trauma, in a place where ghosts still linger.

One of the ghosts is you, Paul, and one of them is that younger me, though there are millions more. Shapeshifters, enigmas–

Now I remember. You said, “Of course we’re enigmas. We’re pickled in secrets. That’s how we survive.”

And I wonder if that’s what you told yourself, Paul, when you betrayed me, when you betrayed us all. Just another pickle in the jar.

A late response for Monday’s dVerse Prosery prompt using the line:
“The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.”
~ from “Winged Words”, Valsa George

My previous Prosery post ended with: “Enigma. Paul. Something he said on the cliffs. What was it?” So, I just discovered my protagonist is a poet? Who could have suspected that?

17 thoughts on “Prosery: Enigmas

  1. Paul is a spoiled pickle? Yes, I think so, I have been thinking so for a while.Now, on to the poetry aspect. What will the narrator make of this little seed? I will be very interested to find out.

  2. Oh Merrill this is fantastic flash! Love the smooth wrapping of the given line and the depth of story and emotion.
    “pickled in secrets”….wow!

  3. Brilliant, Merril! I know poetry can be born out of trauma, and provide solace also. If you ever make this story into a full-length book, you know where I am 😉

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