c.1440, illustrated manuscript by Master of Catherine of Cleves (active c.1435–1460)
Whenever my children laugh at
The Floor is Lava
I shudder
thinking of my own childhood–
the rubbish and refuse,
teetering on a Hellmouth,
perched to fall
in the place the bad people descend.
The lava basement
awaiting the kids who didn’t
obey their parents,
repent their sins,
do their chores,
evangelize.
Preacher said
sin was more serious than we realized.
And at eight, I wondered at the lake’s size,
the length of the day of darkness
where the unrighteous were consigned.
But it wasn’t burning flesh,
festering worms,
gnashing teeth
that bothered me.
I held hot plates and didn’t blink.
And when Karie pierced my ears
with a needle in her basement,
I felt nothing on my iceless lobes.
No, it was the charred soul,
the idea that eternal suffering
is due a ten-year-old,
one who didn’t close her mouth
when she ate,
or wouldn’t pledge allegiance
to the right deity,
which was a matter of fate.
I should have learned sooner that
fallacious thinking is a mistake.
©2023 | K. Hartless
GloPoWriMo #19: One common feature of childhood is the monsters. The ones under the bed or in the closet; the odd local monsters that other kids swear roam the creek at night, or that parents say wait to steal away naughty children that don’t go to bed on time. Now, cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you (if only a little bit) today.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
wow ! searing images; sounds like you had a strict catholic upbringing akin to mine —
LikeLiked by 1 person
More Southern Baptist brainwashing, but I’m sure the end result was likely similar. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
we both did it hard —
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh man. It was church four nights a week and twice on Sunday. I think the almighty was sick of me by the time I stopped going.
LikeLiked by 1 person
hahaha; I was a glutton for punishment: I even spent six months in a seminary: it felt more like the county jail 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
wow, KK… that’s so real.
an excellent poem.
~David
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, David. I wish it weren’t so, but it is absolutely real. The floor was lava for so long. I am trying to raise more open-minded and educated children. We’ll see how it goes. 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Deeply powerful imagery here coupled with visceral prose – that’s so awful you had to endure those religious strictures through childhood. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Tom. 💜 I think being censored so much as a child, and trying to censor myself has made me appreciate all the little freedoms. When I was able to overcome those antiquated mentalities, I had so much curiosity about everything, including my own body. A self-liberation of sorts.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Definitely! Glad you’ve outgrown those old fears & blossomed 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is excellent… we had the same upbringing. It took me years to undo all the silliness. Bravo to you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Colleen. I think it was a gradual breaking down of hypocrisies and censored thinking. Occasionally, I think it creeps back in. When I catch myself thinking in terms of “bad” and “good.” But, I am doing my best to raise two children with much wider views of spirituality, religion and existence in general.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Whoa. Wow. Raised Catholic too? Staunch Roman Catholic for me
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was actually raised Southern Baptist, which was pretty hardcore. I had to learn to love myself and accept myself on many levels. I remember the censorship was pretty high. Thanks for connecting with my piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person