artwork: roger pfingston
HALLOWEEN
by
Roger Pfingston
Evening
steals the grass,
still
summer green.
The
birds return instinctively
at
seven, swoop and turn
as
though invisibly webbed
before
they tear and cling
in
thickly pined acres
behind
the house,
fluttering
nervously
below
a sky of cat eyes.
On
the sofa we sit
silent
in the perpetual trick
of
our lives; one of us
is
a demon.
Doorbells,
though
expected,
jolt
the heart ahead a beat
while
voices like wind chimes
tinkle
through the walls
bargaining
for treats.
We’ll
keep this night
with
sugar on our hands,
our
hearts pumping us apart;
together
we’ll answer the door
wearing
our faces.
~
previously published in Something
Iridescent (Barnwood Press)
