Order this writing in the book the Chamber (the 2016 poetry, flash fiction, prose & artwork anthology)		get the 420 page poem, flash fiction & prose collection / anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

enjoy this writing from Paul Bellerive in the free 2019 chapbook: Tales Told to Friends (click on the front cover image or the title text to download the free PDF file)				You can also order this as a 2019 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback ISBN# book! Click on the book cover to order Tales Told to Friends as a book at any time!

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Flickering Light the Down in the Dirt Jan.-June 2019 issues & chapbooks collection book (learn about this book, and order from Amazon online)		get the 366 page Jan.-June 2019 Down in the Dirt issue & chapbooks 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Naturalist

Paul Bellerive

I

Terrors tore through the darkness
assaulting her as she huddled
with eyes closed beneath the blanket
so thin the light of twinkling stars
sometimes penetrated the tattered threads.

Her mother’s screams shot through the house
mixed with her father’s grunting
like a beast unable to speak,
a brute enraged and rampaging,
a mad creature stalking terrified prey.

She crawled, snake-like, under the bed,
splinters from the ragged wooden floor
stabbing like needles into flesh,
puncturing tender hands and knees
until despite fear she had to cry out;

the beating then just as brutal
the terrible boots, the screaming
as she was dragged viciously
back across the splintered floorboards,
dragged, pummeled, battered into stillness.

All a blur even after years,
the remnants of a vile nightmare
nearly vanished upon waking,
but returning in bits and pieces
just enough to remind her of what was:
banging like a hammer on wood,
gruff, angry voices, outdoor smells,
two loud bangs not quite firecrackers,
a mountainous man over dad
as mom ran carrying her to the street.

II

Silence. Silence. Safe in silence,
a strong, self-created cocoon,
an impenetrable bubble,
a refuge no one understood,
a bubble small enough to be her world.

The teasing, constant bullying,
the loud noises other children
made gleefully behind her back
were momentary shooting stars
slicing through her safe skies like meteors.

Her only converse was with books
in the neglected library
so unused that emboldened mice
would stroll between the dusty stacks
and root beneath vacant reading tables.

On a thundering afternoon
billowing black clouds gathering
over rolling hills in the west
visible through soiled windows,
as she stared at the zig-zagging lightning

she spotted the ancient book.

Atop the shelf, standing alone,
ragged, multi-colored cover,
myriad variants of green,
a kaleidoscopic melding
exploring all possibilities and shades.

Hands gritty from layers of dust,
chin smudged by soiled fingers
she stared at the faded title,
a title in deep, green letters:
Green Mansions by William Henry Hudson.

III

In the distance green-black mountains
reaching like lost gods to the sky,
living things, a comfort to her,
a dream, her true destination,
refuge, her green mansions reality.

Lush, lush, luxuriant, she thought,
if only there were better words
to name the wonders she beheld,
soft images so magical
she felt more than saw the awesome jungle.

Fronds like delicate spider webs
tickled the damp skin of her cheeks;
humidity caressed her face;
the fecund scent of rampant life
stilled her, held her captive and bewitched.

She owned only what she carried,
enough for life, enough for death,
equal parts, an intricate whole,
all she would need at journey’s end,
all she would need in her new mountain home.

Weeks, weeks, weeks warm and wonderful
when on a morning white with mist
she sensed just beyond her vision
a presence, a secret watcher,
a sentry, perhaps, sprung from earth itself;

her cocoon lifted with the mist,
her vision fixed on a creature,
on the enormous silverback,
on his gracious, accepting eyes,
on his aura whispering welcome home.

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