The Wiccan
It was hot, and late in the morning
when a silent little Kevorkian
arrived in the form of a scorpion.
I couldn’t help but think
how like a small accordion,
how like the pale historian—
this dusty desert champion,
this crawling valedictorian,
though startling,
is not so very alien.
And then,
I couldn’t help but think
this lost and lonely veteran,
this one who could be anyone,
this delicate Kevorkian
has no business in my room,
and slowly, very carefully
went to fetch my broom.
Thirty Days Without
a cigarette.
I haven’t
murdered anybody yet.
Wendy Videlock lives on the edge of a canyon on the western slope of the Colorado Rockies, where she writes, paints, and teaches. Her books are available from Able Muse Press and EXOT Books.