I wrote this poem three years ago, when we first moved to Alabama. I love to re-visit it every year around this time because it embodies the Halloween/autumn spirit for me.
Wicker baskets hunker down on your steps like pilgrims napping
in morning so early the last flutters of owls are just leaving the air.
Even the breath of the wide field shows;
moths limp off your porch into the fog, wet and mute.
Green and orange pumpkins pile around your peeling fence posts.
Autumn eggs like tiny, white pearls are lining the veins of the earth.
We shut the screen door drowsily –don’t go back to sleep.
Lullabied by a yellow moon, the creaky porch swing sways us, silent.
Wrapped in damp quilts and old sweatshirts, we wait
for the magical moment between morning and night,
for the break in time when people are going back and forth
across the window where the two worlds touch.
Run barefoot in the frosted fields,
(the doors are wide and open)
out to the edge, hands like five-pointed stars.
(don’t go back to sleep)
Out where your cold toes dance in the weeds,
(people are going back and forth
across the window where the two worlds touch)
race the sun to see if you can go, too.
Hurry boy, before dawn lights the dew.
Hurry boy, it’s there waiting for you.
Did you have a happy Halloween? I passed out candy and watched 28 Days Later with Chris while dressed as a witch from Hogwarts.