Black Widow Halloween by Isabel Grey

I danced in Milk Bar’s Dark Room
Surrounded by Goths, and faes,
and Blood-red racket of Darkwave.
My black widow bustier an arachnid disco ball.

My body long changed, my youth
Accentuated by years of estrogen-dominance.
I wore smeared Sharon Tate makeup
Doll-like and haunted.   I should’ve known.

I spent weeks burning the match-head-sized
Volcanic glass rain, centimeters apart.
On my left breast, over my heart
A ruby hourglass of garnet straight pins.

In the game room, he invited me to Pacman.
He wore no costume. I called him
Lazy until he got me in the back alley
And told me vague plans for a novel.

After pitching my query, I implored to know his.
All you did was pass me a copy of On the Road.
“Your birthday’s tomorrow, right?” True,
But the gift wasn’t wrapped.

He lit my cigarette, molten ember our only light.
I should get back, thanks for the book.
He held out an orange 13 Billard ball
As if it were an ashtray. I stubbed my smoke

Half-way finished.        Won’t you play with me?
But names and fair games and the word
no meant nothing to him.
That was my cue to movetoolate         I hit the chalky ground.

His pockets will always be filled
with ruby-colored sticky glass whispy strings
of silk. I was pregnant when he squashed me.
My daughters will eat him alive.

Isabel Grey is a Creative Writing MFA student at Western Colorado University. Grey is an Assistant Editor at Terrain.org. Her poem "This Act Shall Take Effect" was nominated for the 2024 Pushcart Prize. Her story "Red Door House" won the 2023 WordCrafter Press Fiction Contest.