Cynthia Quevedo is a Southern California native who now resides in the wilds of Vermont. She spent 16 years homeschooling her children, and thinks she learned more than they did along the way. She’s been married 29 years to the same great guy who keeps her laughing and brings her food. She is currently completing her Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing and English, with a Concentration in Poetry, at Southern New Hampshire University. She’s thrilled to have her poems published in A Poet is a Poet No Matter How Tall; A Poet is a Poet No Matter How Tall, Episode II: Attack of the Poems; Lummox, Number Four 2015; Fire in the Treetops: Celebrating Twenty-Five Years of Haiku North America; Short Poems Aint’ Got Nobody to Love; and, Snorted The Moon & Doused the Sun: An Anthology of Addition Poetry
DRACULA HAS RISEN
I don’t remember the movie.
I remember the nightmares, the terror.
I remember the years of clutching the blankets
to my neck as I fell asleep each night--
even in the heat of summer,
full blanket and sheet
in a death grip at my neck--
to protect myself
from being drained
of my life’s blood.
I didn’t want to be undead,
only able to exist
in the shadows of the dark.
I knew this.
Once hidden from view
behind lush spring and summer leaves,
resting at the apex of the tree branches.
Sticks and leaves protrude
Avian engineers constructed this home
against strong winds and rain.
Soon Spring will fill them with a new brood.