POETRY BY CHRISTOPHER HIVNER

Christopher Hivner is a lifelong resident of Pennsylvania in the United States. He has recently been published in Yellow Mama and Black Petals with poems upcoming in Illumen. His book of horror/dark fantasy poems, Dark Oceans of Divinity, is available from Cyberwit.net. Twitter: @Your_screams, Bluesky: @cshivner.bsky.social

BROTHERS AND SISTERS

Mother told us
never look in the trunk
in her closet

Mother told us
it used to belong
to Grandma Milly

and she made Mother swear
to never let us
see inside

We were alone that night
and bored
it was Jessie’s idea

At first
the lid wouldn’t open
and we thought it was locked

but it was only
a gold clasp
and Jessie got it to pop

The lid rose on its own
and something seeped out
like fog

it filled the room
as the lid opened further
and then we heard

the voices
“Let us out!”
they cried

terrified, I backed away
but Jessie
was frozen

“Let us out!” came again
but so did a hand,
wrinkled and gnarled

it grabbed Jessie
and pulled her
into the box

she screamed
the box lid slammed shut
the clasp clicked

I turned to run
and Mother
was standing in the doorway

“There were voices,”
I shouted
“I know,” Mother replied

“My brothers and sisters
who don’t know how
to do what they’re told

so now, like me,
you’re an
only child.”

TIME TO BEGIN

I gave you a chance
to escape,
freedom in your fingertips
that couldn’t unlock the door.
I gave you time,
watched you fumble
with the lock
until you dropped to the floor,
tears wetting your hands,
slipping off the doorknob.
I give and give,
still you call me names
between
begging for your life.
Choose one
and stick with it;
am I wrong for kidnapping you,
or do I have compassion?
The point is moot now anyway,
the urge that scratches my soul
and makes me tremble
has clicked into place.
No more escape plans,
no more leniency,
it’s time to begin.

BLACK DREAMS

Dreams that wake you
in a sweat,
searching the darkness
for a way station
or a friendly hand.
Breathe,
blink shadowed light into your eyes.
Check the clock,
2:32 a.m.
In your bedroom,
on the bed,
safe,
you’re still alive.

SKIP TO MY LOU

The days go by slowly
thinking of you
sorting memories of nights
skipping through the graveyard rows
hand in hand gathering souls