• Tricia D. Wagner

Nights on Spice Island #1.3

Updated: Sep 11

In the basement, I find -

not a ghost, but a potato.

In the attic, it lingers, wailing -

a patient wind.

To claim that they're coming for me

places me in the gaze of the paper whites

and applies on my cloak a red "N."

For neither shadows, nor ghouls,

neither demon, nor witch,

leers in the dark corners of my house, my mind.

Frights have better offers than to darken my door -

and I can find my own way to hell.


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