On the twelfth day of Halloween,

my true love sent to me;

Twelve Vampire Bites,

Eleven Skeletons Skating,

Ten Wolfs A-howling,

Nine Zombies Lurching,

Eight Monsters Mashing,

Seven Ghosts A-haunting,

Six Witches Witching,

Five Skull Rings,

Four Crying Bats,

Three Freaky Frogs,

Two Slimy Slugs,

And a Potion in a Cauldron.

Treetops stain orange and brown.

Vibrancy settles in the hills.

Red wine stains above the sky;

black clouds tuft into raven wings.

She stands with inky hair,

long strands curl down

like snakes that await pray.

Still, yet elegant.

He towers with a quiver

on his lip.

Wet eyes beg her to run.

He clutches danger in his hands.

She closes in on him.

The way she walks is

an autumn breeze

and a slow tempo.

Lips caress on his skin.

The target on her drifts.

He falls for the daunted.

Falls for the spell,

the one he convinces himself

he is under.

The spell is just her.

She will not burn

he thinks.

She is his but cannot be.

He clutches her wrists.

He begs her to run.

She steps back and

leaves him in curiosity.

Heat chars her skin.

She steps in the gap

where he lacks to

finish out his hunt.

Occult boots scuff firewood.

Ash stained fingers trace

beautiful edges and lines.

She was love.

It’s dark outside.

The world slumbers, all too comfortable to wake up, yet.

Some like you though, battle the waves of sleepiness for they have work to attend to.

Work, even if it’s still dark outside.

You grab your phone to just stop the incessant ringing.

I’m up, damnit.

You sit up as the world returns to blissful silence.

The cozy moment lingers for a second, when your face is hit by sharp air.

Shivering slightly, you rub your hands together to warm the frozen digits.

Time to get up.

You get out of bed, even as your entire body protests against it.

Quietly, you pad into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea.

The tea boils as you sluggishly go through your daily activities.

Pouring the tea into your favorite mug, you sit down for a moment.

Cradling the mug with both hands, you allow its warmth to seep into your fingers.

And for a while, it’s just you and the warm mug of tea– as you steal a few peaceful moments before the chaotic day begins...

The new moon, bright

in its darkness

like an eye's iris,

widely shut

but to those

that know,

those that practice

calling to the moon goddess

and her open arms

of the new moon

light their candles

and state their intentions

and manifest the

desires and wants

of the day to day

in their mortal life

today I’m from Paris

having wine on a side street

tomorrow I’m from

Wyoming

where the world isn’t

burning

and in two days

I’m flying

today I’m from everywhere

sipping martinis and

yelling obscenities

nowhere contains me

and when they ask me

what do you do

I say I’m a writer

who else

makes up stories

about their identities

When I was a child

I found a clearing

In the center of the clearing

Was a tree.

In the center of the tree

There was a plaque

That I did not see.

It mourned someone named Chris,

Someone that I never knew,

And in my ignorance and bliss

I picked the flowers that lay.

There must have been a whole bouquet

I scattered them in the woods

Along the way

And when I returned to that sweet clearing

I saw the plaque I’d been ignoring.

I saw the words and began to panic

Afraid of supernatural vengeance.

I searched and searched through all the woods

But no flowers grew that season.

Years later in the hot summer breeze

I returned on a whim.

I remembered the tree and the flowers I stole

I remembered Chris and the debt I owe.

So I wandered through the blooming woods

And picked a few flowers that I could

I laid them down at Chris’s grave

And apologized for the mistake I made.

A debt finally repaid

You got my book wet and began apologizing profusely.

Although I couldn't really be angry because you were absolutely beautiful.

You were the kind of pretty that people have to take a second glance at, the best kind.

You asked if you could buy me a new copy but the book was just a paperback and it was my third time reading it, obviously not a big deal.

I said sure.

Sure led to “okay” which led to ’here’s my number”

Followed by “how bout a trip to Barnes and noble next weekend?”

Life was set.

Do you remember that trip?

It led to my greatest love

And my greatest loss.

I wish we could discuss it but you have moved on to another life.

By the way, my love, I never got rid of that book.

You swore on every star that you’d give me the life I wanted

I thought you would, after all, we bonded.

But here I am with an empty lap

And nobody to care for but myself.

Every moment feels like a painful stab

And you are only into yourself.

You made me laugh so hard it hurt

And made me cry so much I burst

But all those broken promises you made I will never forget

Even though it is so hard to accept

But I will remember your absence forever

Because without you now, life is a new endeavor.

do you remember

when we first met?

during quarantine

when the last thing

we were supposed

to do was touch

each other

breathe out or hug

but we did

and now we’re here

the pandemic never ending

our tie like illness

incurable

until

we kiss

We have had a vegetable garden for the last 25 years. Each year my husband has battled with wildlife. The first year, he called me wild-eyed (granted, it was a phone call, and his eyes could not be seen, but the sound of his voice made the state of his eyes quite clear).

Anyway, I was in the middle of teaching a Spanish literature class and we were interrupted by the PA system: Mrs. Tezcan, please come to the main office. At the same moment, the office secretary came in my room to watch my class.

“It’s your husband. He sounds really upset.”

Thinking immediately of my son, I ran down the hall to the main office. I picked up the phone. “Canim?”

“He ate my tomatoes!!” he screamed.

“What?”

“That woodchuck! He ate my tomatoes. And he didn’t even have the decency to eat a whole one; he just took a bite and tossed the rest on the ground. All my hard work!”

“You called me because the woodchuck ate your tomatoes?”

“Yes! At least 20!”

“Is Anka okay?”

“Anka?”

“Our son?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I have to go back to class now. Sorry about your tomatoes,” I said, hanging up before he could hear me, and the rest of the office burst out laughing.

Over the years, my husband has built a fence, added chicken wire, netting, dug trenches, and even filled woodchuck holes with roadkill. One year he caught one…and set it free. He can’t hurt animals. Not even ants or bees, so how could he harm a fuzzy fellow with big, sweet eyes? Impossible! And so, every year they return…along with the rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, skunks, possum, birds and deer.

Given all the time on his hands during the lockdown in 2020, he dedicated a great deal of time to the garden. He built raised beds, bought more soil, and perfected the combination of chicken poop, cow manure, and peat moss that he uses. Last year and this, we have had tomato plants on steroids. It’s quite spectacular. Both years, the little creatures did away with the cucumber, parsley and zucchini with relative quickness. My mint plants are growing profusely (apparently, none of the little fuzzies like mint). And the tomatoes? The tomatoes have grown to tower over us, weaving their way through the netting that was added last year when birds joined the group of crop destroyers. Even so, they have begun to eat tomato plants and green tomatoes.

A few weeks ago, my husband cursed the garden and swore that this was the last year he would ever plant again. The sweet furry garden creature(s) had bitten and discarded at least ten plants. Dismayed that he was so distraught, I decided it was time for me to get involved.

I suggested the time-honored custom of farmers everywhere: a scarecrow.

All the how-to sites suggested newspaper or straw as stuffing. Lacking both, I decided to use old clothes stuffed in garbage bags (so only the outerwear would get wet in the summer rains). I scavenged the bins under my son’s bed where clothes had been gathering dust since he left home three years ago. I found jeans, lots of old underwear, t-shirts and socks. Needing more shape, I found some lackluster pillows in the attic to fill out the upper body. Fully stuffed, it weighed more than me, so I nixed the stake idea and sat him in a chair in the midst of our beautiful, ten-foot tomato plants.

We named him Jason. (That was probably stupid on our part.)

It looked way too real.

I screamed multiple times when entering the garden. My husband got to the point of chatting with Jason while working in the garden. We joked about having nightmares and the scarecrow taking midnight walks.

We were only joking. Ha ha, wouldn’t that be funny, ha ha, just like a horror movie, haha.

Until yesterday we found Jason with one leg over the fence, in the act of climbing.

Yeah, so maybe the four-legged fuzzies got together to get back at the two-legged ones.

It could happen.

But, just in case, Jason has been reduced to his original pieces which have been laundered and packed away, separately, in labeled boxes in the attic.

Maybe we should build a greenhouse…