October vignette

By Ryan Gulledge


On a creaky futon, lingering
cheap incense & petrichor.
Hot chocolate dregs
stain the bottoms of our mugs


Like patchwork. Your knitting
in your lap, needles clacking
away the hours. Unfinished

green mittens. The TV’s decree:
Jack Skellington should stay
in his own holiday. It feels like one to


Us, our lashes illuminated by scant fanlight.
Ersatz fireflies kissing your brow, reflected
in the glasses you hate, and I love

the stillness in you.