the old god
i heard the marching come early, this year.
thousands of little feet tamping the earth
just above where i sleep.
they dance the same - their
joyous games played in the light of day.
where the call of 'trick or treat' is
so very loud i
can hear it from the dirt and weeds
because my home is the earth.
it is my house, and the bed where i sing
lullabies to the worms
coaxing them down onto my plate -
along with the turnips and potatoes and
everything that steeps in the dirt like a good tea.
Thanksgiving also came early this year.
i've gone and made my own feast.
but it's when the winter sinks
it's gnashing teeth into the ground
that i find my chains to be brittle.
binds of root and twig bloody my wrists
every day of the year -
but an early frost...what an omen indeed.
so early that Christmas might just see
more than just presents and fir trees.
oh, this year...it might just see me.