Time-spawned caravans of martyrs,
those who died for others, arriving
through forgotten graveyard portals
Clear, pungent story-tellers of the sacred
within our peeled and cored images.
Younger brother, born
a bit different and
all the more lovable
because of supposed
disabilities, told us
fairies danced upon
his window sill during
nighttime’s full moons,
that they wanted him
to live with them. . .
and he does.
Moonlit nights,
sister and I slip
out the back door
to dance and sing
with brother and
his beloved fairies
Mother, with her
all-seeing cat-like
eyes, her pointed
ears covered by
naturally blue hair,
has cookies, cocoa,
hugs, kisses for all,
while dad just grins,
playing his lyre
and panpipe.
Halloween
eager and waiting
on porches and doorsteps
these fairies, zombies
and witches, princesses,
heroes and vampires
gap-toothed presence
of our genuineness
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