I still love when
the train whistles outside the window
maybe one day
I’ll climb out
in my night clothes
and chase after the noise
on bare feet
reaching out
to curl my fingers
around the cold rust-orange handle.
I’ll pull myself up
with a jerk
and stop this nonsense.
reunite with my childhood fiction
and live without shoes.
the reason
modesty
is expected
is that if we
were to bare
our shoulders,
men would fall.
these shoulders
are magic.
an unfair
advantage
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the ground glitters
with millions of ice crystals
wherever the light shines
my fingers are numb
only on my right hand
because it holds the light
the rocks are warm
in comparison to everything
no glitter on the rock moss
this is a witch’s home
she delights in dark
old dry flowers adorn the walls
cats laze on every flat surface
calm magic in the air
she concocts plans to scare
yes please, scare them all away
this is a witch’s home
only for the dark and ghoulish
the haunts and foolish
dragons and owls
wolves and power
magic until the 19th hour
