by Liz Bennefeld
Why don’t I remember Halloween—
the multicolored, black and white streams
of children giggling in their costumes,
flowing from street to avenue to street,
a “Trick or Treat” on each porch lit,
with pumpkins, draped with bats and ghouls?
I’ve heard stories about the haunted Eve,
seen the photographs of us dressed up
as wicked witch or ghost or Superman,
an empty basket on each arm. Brief flashes
of stray memories—the rest is gone.
In recent years I’ve spent the Eve
among the grave stones, sharing
roasted pumpkin seeds and bonfire toffee
with neighbors who’ve crossed over,
telling tales about the living.
The children are all gone.
I’m not alone.
It’s safer here.
Written and recorded on 2013-10-23, and published in the 2013 Science Fiction Poetry Association (SFPA) Online Halloween Poetry Reading, Liz Bennefeld, editor & contributor.