October Veil Chapter One
When I left work that day, the cripst air stung my skin worse than the days before. Adding more layers everyday, leaving the house was again becoming a task not always worth the effort. My usual walk to work brought me by the 3 most historic homes in town, full of tourists flocking on the front lawns. Living in Salem was not easy, esspecially around Halloween, but I've lived here my whole life, and I could never seem to get away. I tried moving to California, but something in me missed the veil of mystery that cloaked this town and its rich history. It was almost like gravity.
I moved back in 1972 and have since lived right next to 3 very important homes in the neighborhood, once owned by very infamous witches in the 17th century. Two years later and the flocks of witch fanatics still come in waves like clockwork. December through June is very slow, but once August arrives, there is not an open hotel room within 100 miles of the town. I try to live my life as normally as possible, being a resident and not a tourist, but even me, someon who's lived through 34 Salem Halloween's, still feels strange once October first hits. The wind begins to sing, and the skies are a grey you could never match with a paintbrush.
That day, I had to take a detour to drop something off at my childhood home, where my mother still lives, and where my father passed away 8 years ago. I work for the local newspaper, and my mother sometimes takes pictures for the paper, being a gifted photographer. I was to drop a camera off at her house that was so graciously lended to my mother and I by the chief editor while my mother's was being cleaned. On this day, I noticed a woman standing in front of The Witch House, one of the more famous buildings in town. This would be normal, knowing that there is always at least one tourist surrounding this home, even in the off season, but this woman was alone, dressed in colonial garb, and looked pale, like she had just walked out of a damp basement and seen the sun for the first time in years.
The dirt kicks up
into the swirling current and dyes the creek
a green akin to the leaves that dip
down into the surface hanging from long, skinny branches
that can’t support their own weight.
If water sang,
the dark kind would have a deep, rumbling voice.
Its fingers would twist and tangle and pull you under
into thick mud with the bottom feeders.
I would not treat them as if they're a different person, because they're not. They're the same person I have always known and loved. I would assure them that nothing will change, and that I will stand by them when ignorance gets in their face. I'd also let them know that they deserve to love whomever they chose, and that the person they decide to love will be lucky to have them!
The Building for Unloved Visionaries
If I recall well enough,
the walls were welcoming.
I can never remember if I dream
of him with long or short hair,
but either way is sweet.
How often I dream of children
frightens me-when I wake up,
they’re gone, I look down
at my flat belly, and
I have never given birth.
This child was afraid of the dark,
and we sang to him
leaving a tapestry of song on the ceiling.
And he pressed me down
in a room half a mile down the hall from our son, and I felt every bit.
Time didn’t move,
we could’ve been in that room for months.
He needed me-they both needed me,
and in the morning only I need me.
If I could create love from something,
let me with him, and in that building.
If you're unsure,
I am promising
the waves will keep crashing,
the vines will keep climbing,
my eyes will keep drifting
off and move across your skin.
If you're unsure,
I cannot exist
I will not exist
unless I know you.
When we are both dust
in the dirt,
My bone structure
will be turned towards yours.