Halloween Crossing
The yellow light blinks, it’s late October.
Hesitant by nature, I press the button.
The voice tells me, as always, to wait.
Also waiting at the corner,
is a woman saying she’s transgender
looking for some money, just to tide her over.
As there’s no money in my lavender hoodie;
she compliments me on the color.
The hoodie’s a cast-off from my eldest
who no longer lives at home.
Two teenagers, still in the house,
looking at their phones.
As the light cycle ticks, I muse, a little pissed,
that I’m the only one left
who cares about Halloween,
who bought a pumpkin nonetheless.
On Sunday I overestimate my knife skills,
try to carve curves, but only cut chunks.
It looks demented says Sophia.
Like you! crows Owen.
Seeing my face, he takes it back.
Sophia gives my arm a pat,
it’s what’s inside that counts
Annoyed by the memory, I continue to yoga class.
In Savasana, legs propped, back flat,
I settle into my mat, imagine that I’m giving birth
to a lover or a sunflower.
The energy orbs from my pelvis,
images pulse out between my legs,
float away into darkness.
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Heather Nelson has been a student of poetry since college, where she developed her thesis project under the guidance of CD Wright at Brown University. She returned to writing in 2011 and has since been published in Ekphrastic Review, Lily Poetry Review, Spoon River Review, and others. She currently leads a local free-write, runs writing workshops for high school students and hosts a book group in Cambridge, Mass. She has been active in the Boston area literary scene since she began writing, and has taught classes at Grub Street, planned events for Litcrawl, organized author talks and other activities. https://www.heathernelsonpoetry.com.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 