BURNT AIR

Burnt air tastes of ash and smoke. Specks of lined paper rise up on a sweeping current into the sky.

BAITED HOOK, FLYING

The boy’s spine curled forward, similar to a shaved orange peel, though he clearly wasn’t an orange.

WICKED, WICKED NIGHT

Masks and frightening costumes,
scaring friend and stranger alike.
Stringed glow sticks, bulbous spiders,
spindly legs, warped goblin heads,
rotten teeth, foul breath.

ANCHORING LIFE

A life filled with living creates many memories, sometimes not so readily remembered, at least not all that accurately. When I was a small child, I started a journal, my attempt at anchoring my life, though I know I wouldn’t have called it that then.

THE LATE WINDS OF AUTUMN

Horizontal winds blow, invisible,
scissoring through trees and yellowing grasses.