Wildlings at the Fire

We’d dance like wildlings around the flame— chanting, poking, laughing, fierce with purpose, alive with that edge of danger we so loved.

The Tiny Bottle

It was from the cruise ship gift shop— he never left the boat.

But I never forgot that warning sound, how it chilled my blood, and how I froze like prey to it.

Soon enough he had me shaking that magic globe, spilling out questions faster than I could accept its answers.

He boxed up our joy. Years later, visiting his home, I saw the idol again— being used as a doorstop.

Ghosts must have called the police on us.

He loved teaching us about the land, and we listened with our whole hearts.

Amethyst and quartz, wildly out of place in the most magical way—a glitter pile of hope beneath the rain spout.

Haunted jewelry. It had an upswing in the ’60s and ’70s. I wonder how many of those rings we found were authentic— and came with ghosts.

You handed me a mineral, and I still carry it with me in the daylight of awake.