Hollow Pumpkins

Hollow pumpkins: I’m drinking outside.

I wrote another poem

that’s sort of about you—and pieces of others.


Listening to raspy female vocals

to loosen my ribcage.


My lovely son asks a deep, thoughtful question

I’m too afraid to answer—I’m not sure I can.

(bless his heart) He needs an answer, but

so do I.


My night is lit eyes

like a hollow pumpkin

with a candle in its guts,

flickering in shadows

held too close.


A lover’s whisper trapped in a seedy hell;

I guess I’ll just never know.


To empty black air, to

pumpkins, and Jesus out there,

caroling in my yard,

I treasure each and every All Hollow’s Eve;

It reminds me of parking lots, fall festivals and the girls I left behind.


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