That Time of Year

It’s that time of the year.
The it’s-warm-in-the-sun time of year.
Debating when the heat should be turned on with lows in the 40s, highs in the mid-60s.
Saying goodbye to summer
and sure, she writes a few times
(surprise 80 degree days)
but eventually forgets
and you go your separate ways.


Over the halfway point of October and OctPoWriMo, which wasn’t on my to-do list until October 1st, then October 2nd happened, and so-on and so forth.

Dying Dialects

You are a representative of the dying kind
A language being wiped out
in favor of assimilation, of oneness
No room for uniqueness
No energy to teach the little ones
how to speak like their elders
Sitting across from each other
One says “sss” while the other says “shh”.


Dream Child

The child dreams
of witches trapped inside trees
and fairies made of bone.
She carries a skull to light the way
empty sockets filled with infernos.
And the woman in silver armor…
Who is she?
She seems familiar
Eyes like peacock feathers
Is this a red cinnamon dream
or a black licorice nightmare?
The child faints…
Awakes in the darkness of her room.


This poem felt good to write. It references characters from a novella I wrote during 2019’s NaNoWriMo, which also featured a character from the novel drafted during 2018’s NaNoWriMo.