The Dog Wakes Me Up to Talk to Witches
The 2 a.m. nose nudge
tells me it’s time to take her out
(our ritual that
conjures me awake)
but she stops short of the grass
and motion-lit sense
which would consume the lawn
to yawn, sit for a spell,
and stare into dark
where I assume
she barks to commune
with the wind and the witches
huddled by the fence
who flap whispers
that flick at
her pricked-up ears—
too low or high
for me to hear—
as I wrap robe over chest,
sigh this side of glass,
and wait for what hex
or curse comes next.
Shame
Your sad ghost
who saw said
shame on me,
shaking her finger—
even after all
of these years—
thinking it matters
if we redraw
the half-erased line
between what disappears
and what lingers.
Aaron Sandberg has appeared or is forthcoming in Asimov’s, No Contact, Alien Magazine, The Shore, The Offing, Sporklet, Right Hand Pointing, Halfway Down the Stairs, Burningword Journal, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, you can see him—and his poetry posts—on Instagram @aarondsandberg.
photo by Freddie Marriage (via unsplash)
Crow & Cross Keys 