The Rushes of Samhain by Meg Smith

I dream of bonfires in a bright ring,
and I whisper to the shadows of trees
dancing along the outer wall at night.
I call to the black cat, and the
black cat comes, quietly, hungrily,
and makes herself a place
on the threshold, as a cat would do.
Along the path comes a ragged procession,
laughing, singing, hoisting cups,
and they will all come — a pirate, a dancer,
a poet, a young man shouldering a bayonet.
They will come — my uncle, at only 10,
taken by a cratered tooth.
A child, alone in the marsh.
I will have cakes and coins for all of them,
and their tears that have nourished
the sure, good soil.


Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer, and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. In addition to previously appearing in Tales from the Moonlit Path, her poetry and fiction have appeared in The Horror Zine, Dark Dossier, Sirens Call, Dark Moon Digest, and many more. 

She is author of five poetry books and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor. She welcomes visits to

Published 10/28/21



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