Nursery Rhyme Riffs (Part 2)
[WARNING] A dark retelling of three nursery rhymes through poetry and prose.
Rock-a-bye Baby
In the treetop, cradle sways, As wind's whispers fill the leys. Cradle rocks, fragile and light, Bough breaks, a fateful plight. Down they tumble, both entwined, A tragic end, destiny unkind. Silent lullaby, mournful refrain, Life's fragile thread, severed again.
WINTER SETTLED DEEP into the town, slipping under doorframes and sneaking through cracks in the walls, a storm brewing.
Amy sat beside the window in Emma’s room, frost thickening over the glass and blurring outside shapes, the shawl around her shoulders no match for the cold.
A new red chalk circle on the neighbor’s door across the street had shown up—evidence that measles had taken up residence there. The laughter of children had gone quiet days earlier.
Emma was in the old cradle in the middle of the room, her little body curled under a warm blanket. Amy dropped to her knees next to it, one hand gently laying atop Emma’s hot forehead while the other gripped the cradle’s edge. Emma was breathing shallowly, unevenly, her delicate chest moving slowly up and down.
The wind went from a low whine to a howl, slamming against the house, shaking windowpanes, and pulling on the naked arms of the old oak outside.
Then suddenly, a sharp crack split the air. A weak branch broke free and crashed into the wall.
The cradle rocked violently.
Amy’s heart leapt as the spindly legs trembled under Emma. The cradle tipped to one side, but Amy managed to catch her daughter just in time, careful arms closing around Emma’s small body.
The cradle slammed to the floor next to them, wood splintering in a crash that echoed through the room.
Emma’s breathing faltered. Amy kissed her cheek and held her closer, singing softly, fingers shaking.
Outside, the storm softened. Inside, lullabies faded and silence settled, thick and heavy.
Then, Amy keened, a raw, feral sound that shattered the silence.
Little Miss Muffet
What a cruel surprise— Little Miss Muffet's demise! On her tuffet she sat, Curds and whey, just like that. A big spider appeared, Her heart filled with fear. Frightened, she fled, In its web, she's now dead.
JO MUFFET PERCHED on a stool, which creaked beneath her as its crooked legs pressed softly into the garden dirt. The bowl of oatmeal next to her remained neglected, steam dissipating into the brisk morning air. Her fingers traced a gold ring, worn smooth with age. It had been given to her by her mother, one afternoon when the sun pressed warm against the windowpanes, an hour that felt ordinary and yet important at once. The ring didn’t have any profound significance; it was simply something to grasp, a bit of home.
She didn’t know what was on the outside of the garden then, just that it was something she wanted, something restless in her chest that wouldn’t be tamped down. The branches overhead whispered in the wind, and Jo’s eyes strayed beyond their reach, out to a world she longed to explore.
The years spun by, each one faster than the one before. One day, Jo sat in a courtroom filled with faces, some hopeful, others jaded or bored. She nervously twisted her ring as she stood and spoke for a family clinging to their home, her voice worn from long hours. Hope, fragile yet defiant—that's what she saw in their eyes. When the judge finally nodded, the weight of that win hung in the air, brief and bittersweet.
Behind the scenes, deals slipped through fingers, rules stretched until they broke. Jo watched as some lawyers smiled too readily after losing and others spun yarns to make their pockets plump. And every time that Jo tried to stand firm, invisible strings grew tighter, tugging at her decisions, a reminder of where the real power lived.
One night, her mentor found her in a dark hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing above.
“Look, Jo,” he said, in his rough voice, “your good intentions won’t take you very far around here. If you want to move, you gotta do it their way.”
He thrust a red folder into her hands. “This one’s messy. Real estate, lots of gray. It might unlock things—but it’s not clean.”
Jo turned the pages, the red color from the folder smearing her fingers. She pictured the faces she fought for, small victories and losses that would never leave her. Her heart thudded, a jumble of fear and something other than fear.
Her hand trembled as she signed.
Time continued to pass, but did not smooth things out. Now, Jo was in an office with glass walls, the city spread out below her. She sat with her hands clasped on the desk, one finger rubbing her ring. A letter sat on the desk, edges crisp. Across from her, a partner of the law firm leaned in, his smile taut and cool.
“I’ve been watching, Josephine. You’ve got what it takes to be a partner,” he said, pushing the letter closer. “A senator’s embroiled in a real estate scandal. High stakes, big names.”
He held her gaze, waiting.
“This is your chance. You’ll be on your way if you accept.”
Jo’s hand curled around the pen, knuckles pale. The faces, the tired ones—the ones she’d promised to keep safe—rose in her mind, their voices raw and low. She looked into his eyes and felt the pull, the web that she hadn’t wanted but now couldn’t escape.
Her hand moved.
Little Boy Blue
little boy blue's slumber deep,
amidst the meadow secrets keep.
sheep wander, cows graze away,
he’s in the haystack, lifeless they say.
silent dreams, eternal rest,
little boy blue, a soul now blessed.
UNDER A PALE morning sky, fields stretched wide. Blades of grass bent in a light breeze.
Luka propped himself up on a haystack, the fraying fibers of his blue jacket glistening in the soft light. He loved this patch of pasture: the swath of open sky, the rolling hills, the steady bleat, bleat of sheep. The river far away sparkled like a silver ribbon, with unspoken promises. The ground held the scent of fresh hay and wet dirt.
Luka took a deep breath and felt the calm settle into his bones as the sky slowly changed color, clouds drifting lazily.
Then everything changed.
Boots struck the ground, heavy and sure. Dark forms materialized along the edge of the field, clad in camouflage uniforms that melted into the tall grass. All that could be seen were their sharp, cold and unreadable eyes as they hid their faces behind black masks.
They slipped in like hunters, each step calculated as they closed the gap. The grass flattened beneath their boots, the muffled thuds heralding their approach.
Luka’s breath caught and his chest constricted as if the heavens were leaning close. He stumbled toward the river’s distant gleam, his lungs aflame with each ragged breath. Behind him, the boots crashed ever closer, scattering haystacks, seizing workers, crude voices that seemed to speak specifically to him.
He threw himself behind another haystack well before he got to the river, heart hammering, lungs gasping for air that would not come. He battled the knot in his chest, feeling the rough stalks scrape over his skin.
Hands grabbed at his jacket. A voice hissed, Little boy blue, no one’s coming for you.
Luka did not see or feel the steel boots that kicked him in his back and stomach. He did not hear the laughter that ensued.
His final breath slipped away under an indifferent sky.
I first posted the dark nursery rhymes (poems) in June 2024. You can read others in Part 1.
Author’s Note
This week I decided to lean into despair, just for a moment.
These three stories take inspiration from familiar nursery rhymes, reshaping their simplicity into darker reflections of today’s world. Each tale draws on real struggles beneath the surface.
Amy’s quiet vigil captures the fragility of life amid an outbreak made worse by gaps in public health and social support. Per CNN Health: The US surpassed 1,100 measles cases in two months. Expect more deaths next. Jo Muffet’s path shows how ambition can slowly erode one’s values when faced with the pressure of power. Luka’s experience shines a light on the harsh realities of ICE raids, where fear and injustice fall heavily on those caught in the crossfire, where identity becomes a risk, and justice feels out of reach regardless of legal status.
By weaving these narratives, I wanted to capture how shadows can stretch from childhood memories into the challenges people face now—how innocence meets harsh truths in unexpected ways. These stories aren’t just retellings; they’re calls to notice the human lives behind headlines, to feel the weight of choices made by individuals and systems alike, and to remember that beneath every name is a story.
Upcoming…
A poem about nurturing love:
Heartbreaks, 14 March 2026
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