by Richard Hedderman
The moon had us hoodwinked,
escaping through the branches,
clutching a bundle of dead sheaves
and a sack of children’s teeth,
hiding its face under its bare arm.
The broken bones of the old house
strained to be heard over the groans
of the church steeple struggling
to keep its head up in the wind.
Quivering trees spattered rain
from their bruised leaves, staining
the gravel the color of blood.
Then I heard footsteps then
came a roaring silence
loud enough
to wake the dead.
Copyright Hedderman 2024
Richard Hedderman is a multi-Pushcart Prize nominee and author of two poetry
collections including, most recently, Choosing a Stone (Finish Line Press). His work has been published in dozens of journals and anthologies both in the U.S. and abroad. He has served as a guest poet at the Library of Congress, Writer-in-Residence at the Milwaukee Public Museum, and has performed his writing with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He is currently a coordinator and creative writing instructor for the Southeast Wisconsin Festival of Books.
All work by Richard Hedderman
