Wine had bloodied your lips and tongue, when you whispered your tale of how young witches used to ride married men through the sky on a night like this. The stars were like lit candles that had wandered off on their own, and the misty woods were full nightgowns. It seemed only yesterday old scratch tucked us into a bed of dead leaves.
It could have been a whale’s heart
she towed in her wagon.
It looked like an ocean sponge
with a red viscous beating.
how she managed.
It was sad and strange
how her heart had become her burden.
I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.