Halloween
HEATHER WHITED
It is October
a world of dark
ahead,
a promise of
many frosts.
Early cold;
it bites
at my cheeks,
my hands,
treating me
roughly.
Hair recently cut
tickles my eyebrows
the tops of my
stinging ears.
In the convenience store
picking sour candies
and beer,
my reflection
in the glass refrigerator door;
small
especially next
to you,
my whole
being pulled taught,
shocked
at the bright beauty
of us under the fluorescents.
A large, guiding hand
on my shoulder.
Fingertips on back.
Holding hands,
frozen breath
bouncing ahead
we go into the night.
I do not
deserve this,
the hot twinge
of bruises under
my skin,
being kissed
in an elevator,
lapping up
the seconds long ride
but if it is here
to steal,
it is mine.
Heather Whited is originally from just outside Nashville, Tennessee, and after many changes of her major, somehow graduated from Western Kentucky University on time in 2006 with a degree in creative writing and theater. After a few years working and traveling that saw her hanging out on no fewer than three continents and gave her the chance to try vegetarian haggis, Heather returned to Nashville to obtain a Master’s degree in education. She now lives in Portland, Oregon, where she teaches in the public schools and at Portland State University. She has been published in several literary magazines. When not writing, she plays on a killer trivia team, beats her friends at board games, spends time with her dog, does not go camping, ever, and tries not to think too much about the vegetarian haggis.
