starting again
at fifty
I scrape
every last bit
of peanut butter
from the jar
Bryan Rickert
their brooms
broken and burned at the stake
the witches
assemble at the village gate
to exact a gruesome vengeance
there are spells
we learned from the old ones
herbs on the fire
the chant deep and low ...
'the devil take your soul'
Michael H. Lester and Joy McCall
wintering…
the birch and maple
have given up their leaves
while I remain cocooned
in memories
Reid Hepworth
