Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.


A blindfold; glass apothecary jars full
of pumpkin guts, stringy and viscous, slippery
seeds and shavings like bits of flesh; oiled
spaghetti slick as worms deep in crepuscular
earth and long as nightmares; peeled grapes,
mucilaginous sclerae, vitreous humors
collected by some mutant monster skilled with a blade.
Children hover their hands over the openings,
hesitant, their smiles tight and battling cringe.
Whisper ghost stories under sheet-draped tables,
faces flashlight-lit like human jack o’lanterns,
features carved just beneath the hardened skin, flayed.
The insistent drip from the fathomless hole
of a bathroom is the family dog hung
on the showerhead, tongue lolling, tub splattered
in blood. The insect scritching in the shifting hall
is the China doll, animate, nails grown long and
sharp as razor blades hidden in shiny red apples.
She hauls herself across stained wood, and soon,
soon, she’ll slash her way up sweat-damp sheets.
Strobe lights pulse a jabbering madman, screeching rip
of chainsaw; spectral oaks scrabble shrouded branches;
a chamber of crimson tinged carnival mirrors.
Huddle before distorted reflections.
Say the bloody name three times.
Reach out your hand.
Plunge it in.
gfGabrielle Freeman’s poetry has been published in many journals, most recently in Beecher’s Magazine, Minetta Review, and Night Owl. She earned her MFA in poetry through Converse College. Gabrielle lives with her family in North Carolina where she blogs about writing

Categories: Monster Mash, Poetry, Themed

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