Freedom

I descend to my subterranean chambers.
to the foundations. where back in the days
my folks buried something.
I descend stealthily, hiding from the world. I steal
the key from myself.
it is gelid down there. even fire is burning
from the chill. it burns as char on bare skin.
and goose pimples. because of the ice, fear, foreboding.
I reach forth with a candle in my hand.
I search through the jars of sweets,
bitter, slightly liquorice.
I sift through all that has passed through me.
all that passed before me.
I let the air out with a knife
so that the stench may leave.
I remove the mould spreading on top.
I take a deep breath. get a taste with my finger.
jar by jar I open. I remove the mould.
I take a deep breath. get a taste with my finger.
jar by jar.
until I find why it hurts so much.
and until when.