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  Table of contents Issue Twenty OUT O' GRAYSON'S BOG


Campfire’s light went just so far,
no hint for cause o’ crunchin leaves
‘n sounds o’ drippin too bizarre
for country woods.

Had the fear o’ somethin strayin
out o’ Grayson’s Bog
where quicksand kept the livin dead,
so Granny said, the time
o’ Grandpa’s disappearin.

He come back, a thing o’ rot
stumblin out the woods that night,
jacket he’d been partial to
hangin more’n shreds than not

‘n hearin what I took to be
my name in that thing’s mumblin,
got me to forgettin
weren’t Grandpa anymore

till its clickin teeth remindin,
just before my runnin.

Might say we’ve all
some need o’ home,
even so the once-been-livin—
mornin bayou fog in thinnin
showed the mark o’ scrabblin
back into the Bog.

There’s more my Granny said,
deathbed whispers chillin.
Most I ain’t yet had the nerve
to go about the tellin.




Alan Meyrowitz retired in 2005 after a career in computer research. His poetry has appeared in California Quarterly, Eclectica, Existere, Front Range Review, HelloHorror, The Storyteller, and others. In 2012 and 2015 the Science Fiction Poetry Association nominated his poems for a Dwarf Star Award.

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