NEXT DOOR
By Lida Broadhurst
ext door she lives and
offers smiles.
Not like other neighbors
whose mouths display
teeth like closed doors.
Hers shine like pages
from enchanted books.
So close at hand she lives, I hear her
humming. Like breezes, happy insects,
murmurs our ears forget to record.
Her curtains flutter like wings
perhaps kites, escaping
our concerns.
She offered cookies, or something
molded, murmured for the children
tumbling in from play.
I said so kind,
Later the napkin on the plate
rustled. Almost words.
Beware, bewitched, I would
swear upon somebody’s altar.
The offering then shriveled
like dead blossoms, something
to be buried without prayer.
Now the soil writhes unlike the blessed
serpents through the soil. The children
beg for shovels. Sadly we plan a sacrifice
assuring their skins shine free
of any stain.
Lida Broadhurst's prose and poetry is often inspired by fairy tales and mythology. Some of these have appeared in Mythic Delirium, Star Line, and Nemo No 1.
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