This ought to have been up last week but I wanted to complete the series of stories. It reflects how I saw the time between Christmas and New Year as a child: scary. It seemed to be time-out-of-time, to belong in no time at all. I felt dislodged, floating, and uneasy.
HERE BE DRAGONS
between Christmas’ night
and New Year’s dawn
days feast into dark
nights orgy into sunrise
bonfires cavort
at the clock’s command
it’s an unsafe week
when the invisible
peers out of time
spectres dance
at our table –
that week
between birth and birth –
here be dragons
macabre hands reach into mirrors
borrowing reflections
for unhallowed rites –
red-haired men, coal-bearers
king the time
I cling to light like a moth
sing shadows out of night
catch movement
in corners
clasp hands and shiver
at the crow’s call
An earlier version of this poem appeared in Green’s Magazine
1960willowtree 