**A genre poem mixing Tim Burton/Danny Elfman favorites: The Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, and Sleepy Hollow.
There’s a Bride in My Hollow Nightmareby Stephanie M. Wytovich
I hear that Jack is looking for his Sally,crawling through the pumpkin patch,
a holiday king trapped in a twisted square
of curled cliffs illuminated by Oogie Boogie’s
moon that shines with skeletal grins and
I hear that Ichabod is looking for his Katrina,walking through the hollow, his back to the
horseman as he scours the woods with no
fear of the Hessian’s curse as he battles in blood
for the white witch’s affection.
And I hear that Victor is looking of his Emily,running through the afterlife and drinking
with skeletons as he hums his piano duet
to the remains of his day as he waits for his
dead bride’s kiss.
But is Sally looking for her Jack,beating against Finklestein’s iron
door with a pile of Frog’s Breath and
Worm’s Wort in her arms to knock the
madman out so she can climb out the tower
and run to her Halloween prince?
And Is Katrina falling for her Ichaboddrawing the evil eye under his bed
and planting spells and curses in his jacket
pocket to protect him from harm, to keep him
safe as he battles his demons and recovers
from his scars?
And is Emily dying for her Victor,crossing realms and drinking poison
in order to make the man she loves,
the man adores, happy once again while
she drifts towards the sky and spreads her wings
to swallow death’s sweet embrace?
Yes, I think that Jack needs his Sally.
and that Katrina needs her Ichabod,
and when the duet is over, when all the
booze is consumed and the symphony done playing,
I think that Victor needed his Emily and now
I see no nightmares in this Christmas
no corpse brides at this wedding,
and when one love—one skeleton,
one scientist, one innocent—finds their
doomsday match—their doll, their witch,
their bride--I can guarantee that no
one is sleeping in the hollow, and that no
amount of reanimated body parts or twice-dead
vengeances will ever again keep them apart again.