Seasons are changing
Temperatures dropping
The last stick of incense burns on my altar
Smoke fills the room slowly
Like a spell
But this story isn’t about magic
But bodies
My body
A cave to my hibernation
Insecurity floating toward balance
My hair growing out
I am growing out
Of this body
I prepare
Count my blessings
Count my friends
Pull in the harvest of the garden
And embrace me
This body
Our appointment arrives
She changes her clothes
A red gown
She has been bitten
And so I will too
Everything happens
Yet Nothing happens
She suffocates me
Chokes me
Darkness in the night
And together we collapse
Into bed
The wood creaks
Our breath constricts
Heartbeats quicken
Reality pauses as my chest heaves
We lay in wake all night
Wounds bound
This old body and
Her fresh bloody body
One
We rest all day
In dreams
As the warmth wanes
Our preparation for the trauma was enough
The blood and the love now together
Self-love and nourishment that came with
The heat
The fruit
The symptoms
Then
Together we came
With the
Kill
Together
with the bite
The equinox arrives
And this gathering
This night, the
Marks on our necks
Yours a celebration
Mine an awakening
Our coven solidifies and
Like Mabon we wait to be reborn
Dreams discern into signs
An abundant harvest
Just like that
My chest heaves
And my eyes open
The sun has set
The smoke gone
The sheets white
The ghosts are all that’s left
I thirst
Feel my neck
My bites no longer wounds
I ask
Are vampires even real?
am I even real?
ANDY: With a mix of authentic vulnerability, relevant truth, and humor, Andy Anderson writes poems that immediately make you want to be their
friend. They are a co-organizer of Byrony Blaze’s Queer Poetry Takeover in
Portland, OR.