My parents steered me
through the chill night air
along the stony, red-dirt roads
in Roanoake, Texas—
weekending at the lake house.
Like the L.P. said, Pure County Magic:
chicken snakes and scorpions,
septic tanks and trash fires,
oil paints and playing cards.
I was a good little witch,
but I still wore a black, pointed hat.
Cold for the first time that fall,
I remember the porch lights glowing
in my dad’s square glasses when he told me
Halloween is when it finally cools off.
Somehow, lightning bugs still flashed in the tall grasses.
I asked if they could electrocute us.
My mother’s platinum hair gleamed
and her green eyes flickered.
My father chuckled, patted my head,
pleased with the question.
I learned my place