Krampusnacht by Kathleen VanCor Heavy black hooves through December’s snow crunch. Horns, shaggy fur, bells, birch whip and basket, Stops for a moment to ponder a hunch. Into the wicker pointedly asks it. “You knew of my coming, it’s been foretold. Yet you perfected your malice, indeed. You thought I was folktale from days of old, Notionless, folly set, you paid no heed?” Standing in his favorite poem by Frost, Smiles, gives his harness bells a soft shake. “You children never understand the cost.” Promises to keep and bad kids to take!” He comes on Krampusnacht, when cold winds blow. It’s been foretold, don’t say you didn’t know. Page 36
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