Trolls In The Cellar

Down in my cellar, under the floor,

I’ve kept some trolls locked in a drawer,

They knit from threads of my sleepless nights,

And weave all my doubts into patchwork of frights.

They wear long skirts made of imprinted shame,

With buttons sewn from a mother’s blame,

They’d sing old tunes in a minor key,

And tell all the stories I’d hide from me.

When I brought in my lamp, they’d squint and pout:

Must you always, let the light drag us out?

I put down my basket and poured them some tea,

Said: You’ve lingered so long, it’s time to feel free.

One braided my hair with a tender hand,

Another drew maps I half understand,

They grumble, they soften, they sigh, they stay,

But then my embrace started melting away.

And when the last one stepped out in the sun,

I was freed from the strain that had kept me so numb,

The cellar feels lighter, the air more kind,

Even trolls make peace once they’ve emptied their mind.

Cathrine Hottran 2025