Samhain Snow
the Abominable Snowman is trick-or-treating
door-to-door this year. His pillowcase is full of our lights and heat
and running water. Every hill wears a white sheet,
scaring up old winter’s Ghost. Apples have candie’d
on their limbs, leaves are frosted, sugar-coated with a
frightening sweetness.
with a cherry-on-top and an un-toy gun, the cop in his
costume has cancelled Halloween
the dark season arrives draped in moon flakes, bending
the branches past their breaking point, and shoving thatched
hats on every roof.
You’ve got a shovel?
It’s got a scythe.
Glaring back at the sun and making
it squint: that’s the thin shiny veil over our heads
and at our feet, announcing our widowhood. So we can
feel buried, like the dead ones. Muffled, mummified in coats
and boots and gloves, whispering through the casket of cold air. Stiff,
frozen knees and knuckles: is this how They feel? My body is a Ouija Board of
bones, with one more arthritic question: Does Hell have mini Mars Bars?