"The Province of October...?"
You don’t just enter October; you survive it. The air turns sharp, the ground turns slick with the rot of fallen leaves, and a yellow moon watches your every step. Past the glowing, bloodshot eye of house number thirty-four lies a path that wasn't there yesterday. It leads deep into the fog, straight toward a bonfire where the shadows don't dance—they scream.
"I Step past the border where September dies,
and I feel the sudden freezing of the air.
A yellow moon stares down with hollow eyes,
and mist hangs low like uncombed silver hair.
The streets are slick with rot and fallen leaves
that crunch and stick like shadows to my shoes.
A copper scent drifts blindly from the eaves,
of frozen dirt and dying twilight blues.
Walk down the lane where porches start to glow,
each flickering bulb a cold and bloodshot eye.
I Do not approach or knock on thirty-four
the door is open, though the owners died.
Instead, I turn right. A narrow path appears
between two oaks that weren’t here yesterday.
It winds into the woods, where something clears
the brush with whispers, beckoning me away.
Far off, a bonfire crackles in the dark,
but there is no one laughing by the flame.
The ashes rise to leave a blistered mark,
and in the sparks, the shadows scream My name Vicky, Vicky.
About the Creator
Vicky 'A' Blevins Reavis
Experienced Creative writer I have published Six books. I've been writing though
however since 2003, I write poetry, Short story's and books I am also
Experienced Type, Writer since “2003.”
Experienced on picture's, writing short story's
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