My father cinched the rope, <br />a noose around my waist, <br />and lowered me into <br />the darkness. I could taste <br /> <br />my fear. It tasted first <br />of dark, then earth, then rot. <br />I swung and struck my head <br />and at that moment got <br /> <br />another then: then blood, <br />which spiked my mouth with iron. <br />Hand over hand, my father <br />dropped me from then to then: <br /> <br />then water. Then wet fur, <br />which I hugged to my chest. <br />I shouted. Daddy hauled <br />the wet rope. I gagged, and pressed <br /> <br />my neighbor's missing dog <br />against me. I held its death <br />and rose up to my father. <br />Then light. Then hands. Then breath.<br /><br />Andrew Hudgins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-well/
