Michael
Bellinger lives and writes in upstate NY (no, no, not Rockland County,
really upstate, like outside Utica upstate!). He is no stranger to the
cold of a dark season. This poem conjures images of collective fear, of
violent mystery, of shadows and death. Much like the suggestion of the
title and the iconic jackal, the concepts of night and devil loom large
in our imaginations from the earliest of ages and nightmares are not
always outgrown. Let this poem be the talisman charm to protect you,
dear reader, from bad dreams of whatever kind might stalk you.

But it won’t be long
Til the night wind blows
Screams of the fallen
And the rustle of the jackal
Soon disappear