Jane was propped up on her elbows  eating a slice of pizza and trying not to get sauce on her friend's bed. Caroline  sitting at her computer with a slice in hand  complained yet again about submission guidelines.

"They all say the same thing. So boring. Twelve point type  no fancy fonts  word counts need not include the title  blah  blah  blah. Editors are all the same. I've discovered a brilliant font. I swear it's art in itself  but it's not one of their blessed regulars."

"Really? Did it come with that font software you bought? What's it called?"

"Yes  really. Yes  it did. And it's called 'Mondrian Whirl.' Totally cool. Here's my new poem printed in it."

'I Felt so Alone.'

"Hey  wasn't that the name of the last poem you wrote?"

"No-o. That was called  'Loneliness is Misery."'

"Ah. My bad. But you do write about feeling lonely on Sundays in both  don't you?"

"Do I dare to eat a peach?" is a line in the penultimate stanza of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." He wrote it sometime before 1920  when it was published; I read it sometime around 1973 ; it has lived with me ever since. The line comes up  you know? Along the way  as I've done this or that  it's surfaced  throughout my adult life-as have other bits from this or that poem  but I'd have to go on and on and on to talk about all of them  and we don't want that. No. Just Prufrock's peach. Why has it stuck with me is what I'm wondering about here.

Great peaches are messy  juicy  risky. Then there's the fuzz. What to do about that? Decisions abound. To peel? To cut? Is a knife at hand or will I have to ask for one? Maybe I should skip this fuzzy  juicy  delicious-looking peach. Eat something else… what to do? Do I dare? Well  I have. And have not.

I've messed up a lot of clothes  of course  and washed many dribbles off my chin. I've gone all out and been astonished. Sometimes I've done without  skipped the burst of flavor  the pleasure  because I've lacked nerve. Sure  I have. We all have.

I imagine T.S.'s line about J. Alfred's peach will continue to pop up as I move on in life  even if I'm not trying to get ahead with quite so much oomph. There's still risk-plenty of peaches to consider. I've had  and will have  poetry within easy reach  and some of it right there behind my eyes  between my ears  oh  hell  in my heart and soul.

So  when you write (when I write) it is (I tell myself) always worth trying to go for those phrases  lines  stanzas that might move right in with someone and stay for a lifetime. We never know  do we? The choices we make in meter  language  form can churn up a poem that will rock someone's world. It could happen. I wonder if Mr. Eliot had his Prufrock look over apples  mangoes  or muscadine grapes before he pondered daring to eat a peach? Eliot didn't write his poems for me  (I doubt he would have liked me  let alone written for me) but I have them  just as if he did. Writers are generous  aren't they? They put in all that time trying to get it right. They don't know if they'll be read  liked  paid. But they risk; they dare. I dare.

Vampires  ghosts  the dead returned  mad men - all these things our parents whispered to us  to entertain or warn us into obedience.

These were tools to settle restless children down into their beds. Does it matter that the little boy was scared stiff? His stillness was a welcome reprieve for his parent  and she'd warn 

"Stay still  mon petit  for what will happen if Loup Garou finds you?" or  "Go to bed now  Your babysitter will be here soon. His name is Freddy."

Who could sleep  but who could move? Maybe you pulled the blankets tighter over your head. Don't look under the bed and for goodness sake  don't even think about what might be in the closet.

We fretted from the safety of our parents protective arms  but there was always that fear -what if they were real? What if Mother and Father just didn't know the truth? Do you remember?

And every fall  that hint of danger in the air - the blustering wind  the sudden cold mornings-leaves changing colors and Halloween would soon be here  when the souls of all the people who' died during the last year  had their last chance to visit old friends  or torture old enemies. We  disguised  ran with them  a part of the fracas. We conquered our fears  dressed as all the monsters or haints that terrified us secretly in the dark. The girl in the mummy costume egged the boy dressed as Frankenstein. They laughed and shaving-creamed the house down the block  where no one ever answered the doorbell on Halloween night. You know the one. An old couple lived there  beneath falling rafters and behind that naked oak tree  whose limbs cast provocative shadows in the evenings. Where children crossed to the other side of the street to pass it by  except on Halloween night. Then it was payback time and the children  in guise  anonymous  protected from repercussions because  "It's Halloween!" toilet paperedhouses or shaving-creamed the doors. There was Ring and Run and burning bags of dog poop on doorsteps.

All that wildness helped us conquer our untamed hearts and fears. Still we thought maybe the Dracula at the door really is THE Dracula. One never knew. One had to be careful. ..

We grew up and learned that these were creations of our busy human minds. We gained mastery over our terror  but in doing so  lost that special flavor that added to our lives - that extra ginger and cinnamon in the pumpkin pie  the gold and red leaves among the dried brown ones  that skittered when we jumped in them. Remember hoping that a mole man wouldn't grab us and pull us under the earth?

We find hints of that fear  that spice-of-life  when we act recklessly. Sometimes we find it in horror movies. I prefer to be terrorized by the stories I read in after midnight. The call of the owl becomes an otherworldly beaconing and I draw the shades. The writings of others can make me squirm or check that the doors are secure. At this time of year  they often blow open. I hope it is the wind.

The Linnet's Wings presents this issue in the spirit of the season. Check the locks twice. Look under the bed and settle down for some good reading. I hope this issue leaves you somewhat ... uneasy.