the old god

i heard the marching come early, this year.

thousands of little feet tamping the earth

just above where i sleep.

they dance the same - their

joyous games played in the light of day.

where the call of 'trick or treat' is

so very loud i

can hear it from the dirt and weeds

because my home is the earth.

it is my house, and the bed where i sing

lullabies to the worms

coaxing them down onto my plate -

along with the turnips and potatoes and

everything that steeps in the dirt like a good tea.

Thanksgiving also came early this year.

i've gone and made my own feast.

but it's when the winter sinks

it's gnashing teeth into the ground

that i find my chains to be brittle.

binds of root and twig bloody my wrists

every day of the year -

but an early frost...what an omen indeed.

so early that Christmas might just see

more than just presents and fir trees.

oh, this year...it might just see me.