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Show CARVING THE PUMPKIN IN MOONLIGHT First I cut through the top, through the sunken hat so the light can finally rush to where it never was- reach down, pull out the insides by the fistfull, seeds already fusing in the darkness.1 The children believe my knife is like nothing they've ever seen, believe within the knife is a hand which does not move for them alone. In the corner is the first man who figured to shape his demons, his shoulders and elbows blazing. I punch eyes the shape of small coffins, a knothole for a nose, working the mouth and sxvollen teeth for the always unsuspected smile. Everything is defined by what is gone. 51 |