Ever since I was a kid, one my favorite Halloween decorations at my parents’ house has also been one of the most simple. Every year, my mom hangs “the witch’s laundry” on their clothesline. Black dresses and old Halloween costumes and a witch hat or two dangle there, cute and funny in the daytime and a little creepy at night when the wind makes a sleeve reach for you out of the darkness or your flashlight catches a shadowy shape just so. Cute and creepy– my favorite combination.
Now that we live right behind my parents, I treat their backyard as mine again, wandering through it at all hours, and I’ve been enjoying seeing the witch’s laundry swaying in the October breeze. One day recently, I got an idea and posed for a photo at the clothesline.
The picture reminded me of a line from a poem I wrote a few years ago. It was published in the 2019-2020 edition of Best Austin Poetry after winning the “Unexpected Award” in their annual contests that year. I wrote “Growing Faces” after seeing a face in a tree trunk, then imagining other objects acquiring human (or not-so-human) characteristics. I had fun creating the wordplay in this poem and hope you enjoy the imagery it conjures.
Growing Faces
The tree outside my window is growing faces. The creek behind my fence is growing limbs. The wind inside my chimney is growing voices. The fog across the lake is growing skin. The laundry on my clothesline is growing legs. The chimes in my garden are growing lungs. The cobwebs in my corners are growing eggs. The loose boards on my staircase are growing tongues. The street outside my house is growing shoulders. The lids on my secrets are growing styes. The cave beneath my land is growing molars. The darkness beyond my lamp is growing eyes. The cracks along my sidewalk are growing fingers. The holes in my back porch are growing nails. The inkblots on my paper are growing stingers. The stories in my head are growing tails.
© Carie Juettner




Wonderful poem! You have the gift.
Aww, thanks!