by Jenna Le
Locking up the store at 5 PM
in mid-November, I feel horror clutch
my throat with twig-dry fingers as I watch
an overlarge full moon, gold hoop skirt hemmed
with spidery gray lace, lurch into sight.
I know that daylight savings time’s to blame
for its too-early advent; all the same,
my body feels betrayed, as when the bite
of rheumatism makes my kneecaps hiss—
too old, too fast, too soon. Years prior to this,
I met a green man on a mountainside
who offered me eternal life if I’d
consent that very hour to be his bride.
If he returned tonight, I might say yes.