My mom: I am sorry for what
Have put you and dad through
Me:that is for Allah do judge remorse
Not me
My mom walks slowly in to the ocean
Where an eye comes
Before she enters the pupil
She turns
And says: I love you sweetie
And goes in the eye of hell
I yell out:
That is for Allah to decide
She and the eye disappear
At the witching hour
The eye of satan
The very portal to
The underworld

the ex from
High school
Though not dead
Has come into the darkest recesses of mind twice
This week
As a murderous
And deranged
Hotel and airline owner
For
I have seen him work with the mob
His air maintenance
Painting his jet liners
With the blood
Of mob hits gone wrong
This is the same Islamophobic
Ex I had to deal
With in school

Demented
Was this evil
Witch
When she snatched girls from the
Streets
To havevthem sacrificed and
Possessed
By the jinn
When will she end her
Evil spree
Of taking innocence
And committing them
To Satan

Red blood drops
The tears of the body
Clear uncolored tears are the tears of
The soul
Blood red leaves
Falling from the trees
Are the tears of the trees
Nature
And of the
Suicide victims
Them leaves have blood
Soaked into them

They autumn eye are
Watching us
Day and night
But know to
Protect us
But to possess one of us
When a person goes
Startgazing
At the beach
During the witching hour
She is confronted buy a horrible
Eye
Watching down on her
The
Autumn eye
They of Satan
Will she be possessed by the demons
Of the past

"write a poem,"

Sylvia Plath commanded summer before last.
Her voice in all places I looked.
Avoided and silenced letters
Crawled in front of my mind and knocked on my skull:
A polite entry into their society with a family,
Other words in Gregorian chant:
You cannot undo insanity in the third decade.

I tell the others, the eyes around me, that these words
Feel like birth announced just now,
With no time to prepare or plan, to nest and caress
The down feathery face, or kiss his tiny mouth.

A poem emerges with a scream,
Bony hands encircling my throat and pushing
Into formation. The existence of new words--
Always the ones in the language before,
Though in this birth the roots twist under the tree.

There's something 'bout Halloween
That lights a part of my heart
Usually feeling dormant and chilled
Warms a few degrees above
The falling temperature outside
An Autumn fog comes and fills my mind
Early in the morning when I wake
Its the only time of the year
That I remember being happier
Throughout my childhood
Somehow we always had enough to dress up
Wear socks with holes
With poking toes in too small shoes
Running as fast as my faltering lungs could take me
Door by door on the least scary night
At least for me
For my greatest fears, I faced everyday
In my own home where I feared closing my eyes
I go back, "Trick or Treat", I'd repeat
Knowing anything I'm handed is a treat in itself
Never wanting to go back to the darkest house
Even once all light posts turned off
It's still my favorite