Halloween, Baby (Brenna Alyssa Mahn

Halloween, Baby (Brenna Alyssa Mahn - New Orleans, LA)

I was born on October 30th- I tell my friends that the universe knew I needed to be both a Halloween baby and a Libra so it split the difference. My childhood was generic princess costume, ancient Greek princess costume, and culturally appropriative princess costume. My dad watched with pride when I learned how to whistle like him during one cold night of trick-or-treating. I remember a full orange moon – orange from pollution he told me. Neighborhood teens jettisoned pumpkins up and down the street in a way that bordered on violence in front of our house with a bullet lodged in the siding we never knew from where.

At nine years old I said I wanted to be a witch for Halloween- my mom grimaced. Instead I went to our church harvest party as Queen Esther, the harem wife of the Bible whose humble desire is the hanging of Haman. We received candy out the backs of pickup trucks.

A few years later my mom met a Wiccan who celebrated the day and Halloween was banned from our lives completely. Or maybe she heard second hand of this Wiccan from my ballet teacher. My dad kept a candy bowl full during late October.

Each year I receive a few birthday texts in November- we had delayed my parties to avoid Halloween. I spent my October days staring out of windows longing to freeze my nose off getting shitty candy I’d someday throw away.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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