Stour Song - Lockdown by Irena Szirtes

   I visit the iron footbridge, where sudden twists of Stour echo the Wharfe, my childhood river. Nearby, light flitters over red cliffs, where the canal bends like liquid ribbon. They think confined bodies bring fettered minds. Not so. I visit the bridge from my cell, counting days until release.

   We all conform, with synchronized menstrual cycles and hurting hearts, except when I don't. They often demand to know her body’s whereabouts: I keep quiet. Ironic, isn’t it? They don't care she was “Filth, “dealing death as readily as drugs. Parole denied, but I can wait. Another six months is nothing, when you’ve survived heroin.

     But I won't see the Stour again. I must head North, away from undone lives and dirty needles, trail my fingers in the Wharfe, drown every last vestige of bloodlust. Fresh prison gossip whispers she lives, faked her death, has new identity. The crime I was framed, tried and punished for calls-no, compels me! I still have shocking connections-assistance and vindication guaranteed! Filth would be minced, devoured, digested, picked up piecemeal in plastic poop bags.

   Lucky for her they can't hold me in Worcestershire, as they hold me here. On 23^rd March, 2020, I flee home.

The Sweetness within the Pie by Kay Yendole Hightown Writers reflect on revenge ...

 

Revenge is sweet so I've been told,

Satisfying and best served cold,

and so I set about the task

To catch him out and then unmask

His trickery, his evil deed,

His false lies, his demon greed,

No more his pain can make me cry.

The sweetness lay within the pie,

the bittersweet taste of his sin, 

the pod of toxic leaves within,

disguised by mellow fruits so sweet,

not seen, how soon his death would meet.

At first he would hallucinate,

then he'll wish his words he ate.

Regret will come all too late

as he prepares to meet his fate.

(First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology A Book of Delights 2016)

Let the Plant Speak by Jennie Hart ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Hightown Writers reflect on revenge

A freak storm pounded against the oak French doors leading to the inviting garden and streaking the panes. Gina loved this challenging weather and was excited at the sight of the huge droplets settling on the pale carpet but she closed the doors firmly and pressed her nose to the misted glass. Angus the gardener turned and winked as he collected his wet tools and headed for the garden shed.

Why on earth had she opted for this nanny job? Mariella a watercolourist and her husband Fred urgently needed child care.  One day in the local gallery, as Gina admired a distinctive painting, Mariella had approached her and explained its subject. They liked each other immediately and soon began a lively conversation. Mariella mentioned her need for a nanny and Gina told of her recent redundancy.

Gina agreed to step in.