Halloween 2017
Father Time spins bottles not clocks,
strikes matches in the basin of a sink.
One catches curiously in your lap,
a skillet parks on a tupperware lid.
Clattering teeth can charm a snake.
Rattle his tail, turn him into a scarf.
Beasts of the field curl up on couches
after pressing flowers between back
and banister. An angel bends near
the hearth, scoops a hoop of gold.
Polyamorous pickpockets take tokens
the sizes of fists, wrap them in napkins,
eat them under the stairs when no one
watches. We’ve lost track of Time.
I think he passed out in the bathtub,
chimes a girl with red ringing skirts,
a cullender full of skins on her hip.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Kale Hensley is a West Virginian by birth and a poet by faith. You can keep up with them at kalehen.com.
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