Ghost Story by Amber Decker
the soft torch of her life
he burned down
steadily year
after year
until she was just
a jack-o-lantern
flicker
tiptoeing through
the dry whisper
of midnight corn
full moon slung low
curved
like a sickle
the horned owl
with folded wings
watched her passage
into freedom’s catacombs
with yellow eyes
many skies had grown
red since they were
teenagers drunk
on halloween dreams
lustful in midnight fields
under
beast-shaped clouds
pickups on old
dirt roads
winding nowhere
but deeper
into lost
he knew
she wasn’t
goin’ nowhere
(oh but she was)
roosting crows
rustled branches
and argued her death
who would get there first?
who would break open
her heart?
who would take the
first bite?
scarecrows
cast shadows
on her bruised face
her black eyes
those who run
never make it out
completely alive.
