she'd spent years building the walls
bone hard and spelled with protective runes
in the deepest, darkest caves
of the tallest, most remote mountains
and imprisoned the monsters within
locked away from where they could taunt
could torture
she left them in the darkness
to die or at least be forgotten
and summoning a great wind
violent and swirling
she set it to guard the prison
to keep anything from escaping
anything from approaching
the wind shrieks, incessant,
piercing as a teapot's whistle
while it twists and burrows
into the cavern's cracks and crevices, into
deeper, darker places
where she's hidden other things
best forgotten
scooping up what it finds
fragments of memory
shards of broken dreams
sharp, cutting mistakes
the wind spins them
around and around
scraping away the spells she'd layered
with tears and words and resolve
over the prison walls
eroding the protections
she eases the storm, which slows the erosion
but creates gaps for shades and shadows
to fill the vacated, quiet spaces
stealthy and small yet no less dangerous
than the things behind the walls
they creep ever forward,
bright-eyed and jagged
dripping poison and pain
she spackles endlessly, reinforcing
patching with one hand while
fending off the shadows, the whispers
with the other
soon the wind will start again
sweeping the chamber clean
of the small monsters
containing the larger ones in their prison
and beginning the cycle
again.
