Midnight / Dry Grass by Jan Darrow

Midnight

From the fog
it rises
at the edge of town.
Autumn’s reappearing act.

Fog horns moan.
Cat tongues wail.
A carnival’s in town.
It’s in the air. The music
drifts,
a merry-go-round
twirls and shifts.

Side shows bloom
like funeral
dust.
Ticket takers
Step right up!





Dry Grass

The skeleton rubbed his bony fingers together
until a spark flashed and dropped onto the dry grass.
It was an old autumn night, and he was cold. And as
the fire spread along a fence into a farmer’s field,
he roasted his bones. The crackling spirited higher
when it hit the dry stalks of corn. Flames shot up under the
clear black sky. The heat felt good and the skeleton
chuckled as the entire field burned before him.
A dead carnival laid rusting along a row of trees just
out of reach. A corn dog trailer slept under the stars.
The carnival began devouring energy from the fire.
Slowly at first, then faster. A decayed carousel creaked
and cracked. It whirled. Music bled from its canopy.
The speared horses swerved up and down. They wore
terrified expressions. Eyes darting. Legs jumping. Around
it went faster and faster. Until one by one the horses jumped,
hooves flying away from the spinning mess and through
the flames across the orange lit field. They raced toward
the skeleton who now had a horrified look on his face.
His singed bones fell back as the horses trampled the earth
and knocked him to the ground, snorting and whinnying as they all
galloped together in unison away and down the gravel road.

Having grown up in the rural Midwest, Jan Darrow connected to the natural world at an early age. Ghost stories are her favorite. You can find more of her work at jandarrow.blogspot.com